The End is Nigh

I haven't had a drink in almost four months now, but the stress of having a seven-inch release AND film fest deadlines ON THE SAME DAY might push me back over the edge. Stay strong, Manilow!




Wish us luck tonight! I'll be back this weekend with a full report.


PS: Today is New Year's on "old calendar"-- according to the tarot, the first day of the Fool's journey, TRUMP 0. Here's to taking a leap of faith!

Truer Than True Stories

Taking a moment to think about Messrs. Holly, Valens, and Bopper on the anniversary of their fated plane ride (which was yesterday, actually-- even in the blogosphere, I remain fashionably late)...



I've always felt that The Big Bopper got shafted after his death-- how come no one ever made a schmaltzy Hollywood biopic about him? It's the part Dan Ackroyd was BORN to play!

Anyhoo, "The Day the Music Died" holds an especially terrifying place in my fractured subconsciousness, and not just because it sucks the life out of any listener within a thousand yard radius. I first heard it at my grandparents' house during the summer between third and fourth grade. I was hanging out in the creepy spare bedroom with my cousin when it came on the radio. My cousin was describing a book with a funny title to me-- HELTER SKELTER, I think it was. He had just finished reading it, and being in his early teens/late adolescence at the time, was thoroughly freaked by the horrific violence described within.

"You could hear them screaming over a while away!" he said. My grandparents' house was in the country, at least twenty miles from the nearest town-- I realized with a shudder that NO ONE would be able to hear us screaming all the way out here.

"They cut out her baby and wrote HELTER SKELTER on the walls in blood!" The walls in the spare room were clean and white, and I could see in my mind how clearly any blood-messages would show up on them.

"The MANSON FAMILY," my cousin said. "It's a true story, and they never caught all of them-- they could still be killing people RIGHT NOW!"

Of course, I had to sleep by myself in the spare room that night. I never closed my eyes, not once, I just laid under the covers and cried and listened to that chorus repeat in my head: "This'll be the day that I die! This'll be the day that I die!"



I didn't even know what the lyrics were about until much, much later. I overlapped the song and the story for so long that they became inseparable to me-- it was always a song about the Manson murders, as far as I was concerned.

On a (mostly) unrelated note: TUESDAY WELD is a Druidic high priestess, and the plane crash was rigged as a sacrificial offering to her. Or so some people believe. How many more lives will end before her reign of terror is finally stopped?

Fickle Fingers of Fate

My box of HOUSEWIVES TAROT cards arrived, and they're FABULOUS looking:



Minor quibble: They shorted me the SEVEN OF CUPS ("Debauch") and gave me an extra SEVEN OF SWORDS ("Futility")... I wonder what the significance of that might be?

Unrelated tarot story: I was shuffling my old deck of cards the other day while pacing around the house (a nervous habit I have), and three cards fell t the floor, one right on top of the other. Stooping to collect, I noticed that they were RUIN, CHANGE, and COMPLETION-- a fitting order, considering the upheaval my life has been in as of late:



Diverging again: Some of you may remember THIS POST regarding pianosmith MICK PENNY and his many foibles... Well, I'm happy to report that there has been a SIGHTING! More than a sighting, ACTUAL VERBAL INTERACTION! It seems Mr. Penny is alive and well and shopping at Target. He has recovered from whatever issues were at hand, is living in town with his brother, has a regular gig playing a local retirement village, and is ready to get BACK IN THE GAME. He passed a business card off on Curvacia and told her, "Let me know if there's anything cool going on sometime, all right?" Doesn't he realize that his VERY EXISTENCE is proof that there's "something cool going on"? I wish that guy didn't take himself for granted so much. He could really be MAKING IT HAPPEN, if he really put his mind to it.

Vinyl Apocalypse

Four needy orphans that came home with me from the Antique Mall this weekend-- click to enlarge so you can see them in ludicrous detail:

This album SEEMS like a lot of fun-- as evidenced by the FUN AT HOME! tag near the bottom left corner-- but just wait until you throw it on the turntable during your next "Burlesque At Home" party and Inappropriately Nude Hippie Guy inexplicably materializes. Selective use, indeed...



I have yet to play this album myself, but I'm a sucker for raunchy theme albums so I'm sure it won't disappoint. Plus, how can you go wrong with song titles like "C CUP BLUES" and "GIRDLES AWAY"?



The cover of this one needs no explanation-- or does it? At first, it seems to be just another innocent (yet perversely hilarious) instructional guide for BALL HANDLING. But what's this we see at the bottom? An sinister excess of PYNCHONIAN SYMBOLISM.



This album is AWESOME, as home belly dance instruction records often are. I love how the cover states RECORDED LIVE, but doesn't actually say WHERE. Judging by the GIANT HAIR on display in these pictures, it was recorded live in my personal fantasy space. I open the floor to discourse.



The pictures on the back are priceless. I want to take all of these ladies out to the bar for drinks with my family-- ESPECIALLY the dancer in the top right corner. I love how she just doesn't even care about pretense: "Allegra. Shalimar. Nadira. DOLORES." She almost looks like she's saying, through gritted teeth, "Can we get these pictures over with already? These goddamn beads are cramping my style, and I got a bottle of J&B waiting back at the trailer."



It's no secret that Curvacia and I melt for SPICY CUBAN RHYTHMS, HOPPED UP DRAG QUEENS, and SHAG CARPET LIFESTYLES. Here's an album covers that caters to all of those needs. And the music is HOT! As in, rum in your belly and chili peppers in your stool HOT. I could listen to this record every day for the rest of my life, and who knows? I might just do that. Bless you, Mary Cintra, for ending my music-buying year on such a spectacular note.



BONUS: Here's a recent video interview with Mary Cintra that both cracks me up and breaks my heart. We should all have this much class. I wish she lived nearby so we cold hang out and listen to her tell stories all day long.

Sexy Sadie