Enjoy your holiday, all

Overheard:

"Now, if the Marshall Tucker band was coming..."

Stupid Three Question Interview: Kyle Rector

What to say? Known this guy for twenty-five years! He invented the Beastie Boys basically, and it was with him that I first heard "For Whom the Bell Tolls." That says it all, really. More? Okay - yesterday he was wearing some suede Pumas that were so far out they were in, then out, then further out - then even further out, so that they exist only in some realm of heretofore untold freshness. M'kay?

So, since we hadn't hung out in years, we will have FOUR questions.

1. In the mid-eighties you had a 'zine for about an issue and a half called
"Blogg." Now, of course, "blogs" are everywhere. Are you owed?

Of course...who knew people would actually come up with a meaning for a
clunky-ass word like that? Check issue 2 for Active Ingredients
interview.


2. What are your feelings about H.R. right this minute?

Didn't he blockade a large part of Kingston this week? Even though the Bad
Brains remain one of my all-time faves, H.R. makes me sad. Not sure
why.

3. Would things have been different if Scott LaRock had lived?

This is a clear case of someone being showered with attention and praise
strictly for kicking the bucket. If he were alive, he'd be eating Trader Ming's
chicken spring rolls from Trader Joe's and boring all of us about the South
Bronx vs Queensbridge feud. I didn't care then!

4. Suppose you had a pet deer. What would you call it?

Probably Daryl...I heard Mr. Hall is on a mission to killer all deer cuz he
got lyme disease. For some reason, I laugh every time I think about a tick on
Daryl Hall. You will too; just picture it. Enjoy your day.

Thanks, Kyle! Look out for Joey '75!

Overheard:

"Everything's a -palooza or a -gate these days."

Image dump 5/27

So, you really think I didn't buy these...

Cyrus!

Picci has a suitor! Three times in the last ten days [ugh -math] we have arrived home to see this fellow scurry away from the back porch where he and his porcine crush sit making eyes at each other.

After he departs, Picci then groans and grouses even more than usual. "Juliet! Shut it!," says the Bride.



Plus he's all orange!:


















(that's Clayton up the block on the sidewalk)

Hey! Grapes!

Right in front of the house!

Third Eye Blind?

Just kicked my ass:

Pork store of TERROR!

So, last night we were sitting with our friend Mary out front of the house.

Drunk 50-ish guy comes wandering up with a Bud in a huggie (!) and said "You want to hear story about your house?"

DO WE EVER!

Turns out this raconteur used to own the house next door! Or something. "I bought that house in 1969...I'm older than I look..." He also later said that he graduated from high school in 1976, so I guess there WAS a time when local 11 year-olds were wheeler-dealers in property!

"Yeah, I was a...cross guard up there at the school. I've done everything..."

Anyway, here were some of the mysterious revelations:

1. Previous owner had someone break in and that freaked her out and brought about her move.

We knew this, but did not know that "the house gave her a weird feeling." I wonder if this was the same weird feeling that made her paint the inside of the place dark, dark, womby colors in the style of Dorothy Vallens's place from Blue Velvet and keep a copy of Are You There, Vodka? It's Me Chelsea by her bedside. Maybe that was something else?

2. Owners before her were an air force guy and wife. They died in a plane crash! Together!

3. Before that "Ann" was there for what seemed like forever. Ann then died in the house and wasn't found for three months!

4. "They" say that, on a night of a full moon, one can sometimes see Tecumseh's mother's outline, quietly, patiently grinding corn on whatever the Shawnee equivalent of a matate is. If one speaks to her, she will just skake her head sadly and drink a forty and have some Funyuns.

Still, maybe the windows that were nailed shut when we bought the place weren't actually to keep intruders out, but to keep evil in.

That would explain Picci.

Are you doing your part?

What have you done today to get Urban Outfitters or J Crew or somebody to remake this sweater [r] exactly?

DO SOMETHING!

Hot Stuff part 2

Was talking to the kid at Ace Hardware the other day and the topic of pepper heat came up, and he mentioned "those peppers from India...they're hotter than habaneros...like a million whatever units..."

I had not really heard of such a thing!

And, yet, here they are at the market:

I'm tempted to buy some, just to see what the "recipes inside" are. Like, chili?

1. Make pot of your favorite chili
2. put one of these on the next block
3. enjoy!

I mean, I'm CRAZY FOR HOT STUFF!, yes, but the package instructs not only to not cut them without protective handwear, but not even to touch them.

Hot stuff part 1

Don't think I won't go through this whole thing in three weeks:

Thanks, Rob!

Nice

[made in China]

What could possibly go wrong?

More overheard:

Lady one [looking at L2's grocery cart]: "What are you making?"

Lady 2: "Chicken salad."

Lady one: "Oh, good!"

Overheard:

"Uncheck the Spanish..."

Late birthday?

Yes, this set of cat-shaped cheese spreaders WOULD be just the thing for our new crib!

Pork store

So, in front of the house, within fence but before sidewalk, we have a brief little space which needed to be utilised. So, we did (ooh! unsupported clause!) and now have a little table-and-chairs set-up reminiscent (to us) of the little meeting spot in front of Satriale's. Fun!

On Sunday morning we had some coffee out there and were treated to the not Jersey-centric sight of three men in their mid-forties, in shorts, sleeveless tee shirts and Axl-style bandanna schmattes, walking two rough looking dogs and smelling of "jazz cigarettes." Amazing!

Also: what's a pork store without a PIG?

"Least"

I never saw even an episode of Lost, but this "tribal vote"-looking pic on Gawker re: the finale gave me an idea...that it all turned out all the post-whatever castaways were really just on extra-long episode of Survivor.

Weekend

She's fine, hold on...

In my imagination, my inbox is clogged with pained queries from readers wanting to know "What happened to the third cat you were talking about??" As it is, I will negotiate the murk of reality to formulate an answer. [?]

She's fine! Still smelly, yes, but adorable. New plan is she will stay where she is for the time-being and when the older existing furry feline brace cools, Margot will come to the house.

Meantime:

The last pic of the Beatles

Am informed this is the very last picture of the Beatles from their final photo session:

As a bonus, the last two surviving Beatles:

May music

Olympian by Gene [np, in fact!] always makes me think of this time of year - wet May. Which is fitting, because the record is damp with mushy sentimentality and heavy-handed low-rent Moz-isms like "I was having the time of my life/so why did you have to die?" YES!

Also, The Greatest Living Englishman by Martin Newell. Just recently got a copy the best of his old band Cleaners from Venus, which is surprisingly great, given the fact that Andy Partridge was not involved. If you have any idea what I'm talking about, you have too much time on your hands and should go outside.

Still, I need to put out a best of me called The Greatest Living D_____ian. Yes.

D_____ - the new Dresden?

The spring of my senior year in high school [May 27, 1987], some big Sherwin-Williams paint factory or warehouse or some such caught fire and burned for days near here.

On Night One, we were all gathered at my buddy Mike's folks' house, where, if my memory doesn't exaggerate, one could see the glow of this immense conflagration on the horizon in the dark. Mike's dad, sensibly enough, came barreling in the room where we were hunched over a four-track recorder and said "C'mon, boys! Let's go see a FIRE!"

The civil authorities were trying to shoo people away from the toxic fumes, and the area was being evacuated, but we burrowed further into oncoming traffic, trying to get close to the blaze. Did not get there that time!

HOWever, today we have a 3000 car junkyard fire going, so close to my home that we are supposed to stay indoors (when I woke up this morning, I smelled a certain acrid odor in the intense [unrelated] fog, but thought little of it, other than that it was like my favorite Stephen King story The Mist)! So, I should call Pops (as he is known) and tell him that, this time, I will drive us right up to the precipice!

Tomorrow: the night Mike's dad came home from work to find our bass player's strung-out scrimshaw-pale girlfriend lying on his front lawn with a ferret on a leash under a fanned-out newspaper! Well, that's the whole thing, actually.

Also, if we were to get a "Good Citizenship" grant or something...

...don't think I wouldn't insist we spend the whole thing on a yarn-portrait of Harry Dean Stanton!

(via someone on etsy!)

The Barrel Fairy has been by!

OH! Garden!

Yes, all the plants are in at the South Park Community Garden/Urban Farm and Sorghum District Constituency Confab (tm).

Here is the water/hydrant doodad, in place and functioning, put in place by the good graces of my John Henry-like, supple and ultimately muscle-rippled upper body:

(water barrel projects are also underway - see next post!)

Here is the proud instigator of the whole shebang in ACTION:

And even the local yokel neighbor tots got involved! M. (center) showed an aptitude unparalleled for watering, and was also quite adept at taking a red Sharpie and drawing on leaves of a nearby tree, while her sister L. (right) looked stylish in silver vest and shared that she had a "four-wheel bicycle." That's not strictly a bicycle, darling, but good for you!

This pic of Marge freaks me out

How little can the old girl look? Pretty little, it turns out. I mean, what does she even weigh? Two pounds? One? None?

Then there's the "face half in shade"/Two-Face aspect. It's your destiny she's considering, like one of the Three Fates.

And the Matt Mahurin-ness.

Picture this man of 41, then...

...spending his birthday wondering whether Weezer's "green" album would have been made better if "Island in the Sun" was replaced with "Fearless" by Pink Floyd.

What do I want for my 41st birthday tomorrow, you ask?

Understandably, I want your change. What's in your pocket, or your purse or in your coffee can of change in the kitchen. Those two nickels, a dime and four pennies sitting in the saucer that the sick African violet lives on? Give them to me.

You can put it all in a box and leave it in front of my house in a box marked "BOOKS." Believe me, no one will touch it.

You could count it up and paypal it to me, but that defeats the sweet jingling.