I frequent the website of Ween, one of my favorite bands.
After a tour, Dean Ween, the guitarist, usually writes a tour diary. It's brief, but usually pretty funny and informative.
The reason I write today is because I found one of his entries to be frightening and interesting.
Here's the text to the diary entry, and then a link to the story he's referring to. It would be quite a trip if this happened to me; that's all I kept thinking.
"the new york state fair syracuse, ny
this gig was almost identical to the gig in allentown the night before. we played on the infield of a race track facing the grandstand both nights. this set was really good and brown and the best part was that we beat out the monsoon rains by only a few hours. i can't imagine what the fairgrounds must have been like for the days after our set. now i swear to god that this next part is true. if you follow the news at all, you'd know that there was a fugitive in upstate new york named ralph "bucky" phillips, wanted for shooting three state troopers and he was also an escapee from the erie prison. there was a massive manhunt underway for him right about the time we were up in that part of the state. i had only heard about the story and hadn't seen him on the news at this point. on our drive back to new hope from syracuse i fell asleep in the van and when i woke up we were off the interstate at this tiny little gas station with a shitty little diner. the other guys were inside using the bathroom and gettting food and i was the last one to wake up and get out of the truck. as i was walking across the gravel parking lot all groggy this dude was walking towards me and i remember thinking as i looked at his face "if i don't stare at the top of my sneakers right now, this motherfucker is gonna kill me on the spot." it scared the fucking shit out of me. to make a long story short, i got home, slept for a couple days, turned on the t.v. and lo and behold, there was the same dude from the parking lot. they captured him right after that, and no one believes my story, but it fucking happened just like i told it."
News story about Bucky Phillips: Not cut out for the straight life
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Friday, September 08, 2006
The Old Simpsons, vivariums, Elliott Smith, and Jerry Stiller
(Note: I've recently posted several new blog entries consecutively, so
be sure to catch all of them, because there are a few others below
this new one.)
After watching the past few weeks at 6:30, I realize nothing beats The
Simpsons. The newer episodes of the past few seasons don't stack up to
the episodes from back in the mid-90's. I swear; it's just good
comedy. It kicks the crap out of Family Guy, which has turned into
crap. All they do is try to be off-the-wall and offensive. And it
grows tiring. Family Guy had good stuff the first season or two. But
since then, it's stupid. Simpsons > Family Guy, is the simple equation
to remember. Futurama, by the Simpsons creator, is also really good.
Just my two cents on the matter.
A little definition for you to impress people with (good luck making
it contextual within the conversations you're engaging in, but that's
your problem): VIVARIUM: noun, a terrarium used for especially small
animals. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
My music recommendation of the moment is Elliott Smith. I squirm at
the fact that it took me so long to discover this guy. (Also, I'm
really good at discovering musicians after they've died in one way or
another, so I'll never be able to see them play live. See: Blind
Melon). It takes a few listens through each of his CDs, but damn, the
guy just writes a catchy song. And almost all of them just grow on you
and you love them more each time. I won't drill it into your brains,
but if you like solid pop songwriting (I guess that's the best way to
describe his music), check him out. Some consider it dark music, and
the lyrics are rather dark and depressing, but you don't always pick
up on it because the melodies are so well-written. He stabbed himself
in 2003, so perhaps that's a subtle indicator of his lyrical style.
(As a slight aside, his voice takes a little getting used to. As
Gretchen described it once, it can be whiny at points. But I told her
to give him another shot, after her initial disdain for the music. She
hasn't gotten back to me yet.)
My last point of the day and it's bold. I'd take Seinfeld over King of
Queens any day of the week, but in my opinion, Jerry Stiller's
character on King of Queens is much more amusing than his Seinfeld
character. In Seinfeld, he's pure rage (and that's funny for sure),
but the writing for his character in King of Queens is more than that.
Hard to describe, but if you watched a few, you'd know what I mean.
be sure to catch all of them, because there are a few others below
this new one.)
After watching the past few weeks at 6:30, I realize nothing beats The
Simpsons. The newer episodes of the past few seasons don't stack up to
the episodes from back in the mid-90's. I swear; it's just good
comedy. It kicks the crap out of Family Guy, which has turned into
crap. All they do is try to be off-the-wall and offensive. And it
grows tiring. Family Guy had good stuff the first season or two. But
since then, it's stupid. Simpsons > Family Guy, is the simple equation
to remember. Futurama, by the Simpsons creator, is also really good.
Just my two cents on the matter.
A little definition for you to impress people with (good luck making
it contextual within the conversations you're engaging in, but that's
your problem): VIVARIUM: noun, a terrarium used for especially small
animals. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
My music recommendation of the moment is Elliott Smith. I squirm at
the fact that it took me so long to discover this guy. (Also, I'm
really good at discovering musicians after they've died in one way or
another, so I'll never be able to see them play live. See: Blind
Melon). It takes a few listens through each of his CDs, but damn, the
guy just writes a catchy song. And almost all of them just grow on you
and you love them more each time. I won't drill it into your brains,
but if you like solid pop songwriting (I guess that's the best way to
describe his music), check him out. Some consider it dark music, and
the lyrics are rather dark and depressing, but you don't always pick
up on it because the melodies are so well-written. He stabbed himself
in 2003, so perhaps that's a subtle indicator of his lyrical style.
(As a slight aside, his voice takes a little getting used to. As
Gretchen described it once, it can be whiny at points. But I told her
to give him another shot, after her initial disdain for the music. She
hasn't gotten back to me yet.)
My last point of the day and it's bold. I'd take Seinfeld over King of
Queens any day of the week, but in my opinion, Jerry Stiller's
character on King of Queens is much more amusing than his Seinfeld
character. In Seinfeld, he's pure rage (and that's funny for sure),
but the writing for his character in King of Queens is more than that.
Hard to describe, but if you watched a few, you'd know what I mean.
Alien Ant Farm anecdote
On the topic of Pantera, as morbid of a segue as it is, it reminds me
of an incident that happened to me and some friends in July 2001.
The group consisted of Dirty Dave, Joe B., John, and I and the
location was Kansas City, MO on July 9, 2001. We were on what was
titled the "Extreme Steel Road Trip 2001," where we traveled from St.
Louis to the Lake of the Ozarks, then to Manhattan, KS, followed by KC
and back to STL. We picked up John (who was actually was a sorry
substitute for our friend Stephen who encountered some trouble with
the parents and had to return home for the week) and headed to Kansas
City for the Extreme Steel concert, which consisted of headliners
Pantera and Slayer (hardcore bands, to sum it up) along with Static-X,
Skrape, and Morbid Angel as the openers. I was, and still am to an
extent, into this type of heavy metal, but I need to be in the right
mood.
The concert rocked hard (it really is a natural wonder to see a
Pantera live, and I pity anyone who never had the chance to
observe, or participate, in one), but this is secondary to the
anecdote at hand.
We were departing the concert after it ended, and as we were exiting,
I spotted a short man with a uniquely shaved crew cut. He also had a
tattoo at the back of his neck; it was the logo of alternative rock
band Alien Ant Farm. I followed him down the concourse a bit and, upon
further facial investigation, realized it was actually THE lead singer
of Alien Ant Farm. (Simple explanation: the Vans Warped Tour was going
on the next day, which AAF was playing. Just wanted to take in a
relaxing show the night before, I assume.)
Dirty Dave (trust me, the description is rather applicable), being the
extrovert that he is, led the charge in approaching Dryden Mitchell
and engaging him in a conversation. As amusing as the story is
already, Mitchell's reaction furthered the experience. Actually, if I
recall the situation correctly, I began by say, "Hey, are you the lead
singer of alien ant farm?" And he responded, startled, "Ye..ye…yes…,"
Basically, the man was frightened out if his mind. I'm assuming,
because he's a stage performer who I wouldn't think would be prone to
shyness except when performing (though I think there are personality
types like that out there), that this dude was probably messed up on
some sort of drug and feared for his life. Heck, I would be scared of
four Pantera fans accosted me and struck up a conversation. The
conversation was brief, but a mention was made of Dave and Joe
attending the Warped Tour when it came through St. Louis in the
following days.
Sure enough, Dave and Joe caught Mitchell's eye at the concert. He
wasn't too f'ed up back in KC, I guess, since he remembered them, and
proceeded to silently offer them a sip of his lukewarm Busch Light.
After thinking about it further, I think maybe Dryden Mitchell is a
little messed up in one way or another. Anyway, it makes for a good
story, right?
of an incident that happened to me and some friends in July 2001.
The group consisted of Dirty Dave, Joe B., John, and I and the
location was Kansas City, MO on July 9, 2001. We were on what was
titled the "Extreme Steel Road Trip 2001," where we traveled from St.
Louis to the Lake of the Ozarks, then to Manhattan, KS, followed by KC
and back to STL. We picked up John (who was actually was a sorry
substitute for our friend Stephen who encountered some trouble with
the parents and had to return home for the week) and headed to Kansas
City for the Extreme Steel concert, which consisted of headliners
Pantera and Slayer (hardcore bands, to sum it up) along with Static-X,
Skrape, and Morbid Angel as the openers. I was, and still am to an
extent, into this type of heavy metal, but I need to be in the right
mood.
The concert rocked hard (it really is a natural wonder to see a
Pantera live, and I pity anyone who never had the chance to
observe, or participate, in one), but this is secondary to the
anecdote at hand.
We were departing the concert after it ended, and as we were exiting,
I spotted a short man with a uniquely shaved crew cut. He also had a
tattoo at the back of his neck; it was the logo of alternative rock
band Alien Ant Farm. I followed him down the concourse a bit and, upon
further facial investigation, realized it was actually THE lead singer
of Alien Ant Farm. (Simple explanation: the Vans Warped Tour was going
on the next day, which AAF was playing. Just wanted to take in a
relaxing show the night before, I assume.)
Dirty Dave (trust me, the description is rather applicable), being the
extrovert that he is, led the charge in approaching Dryden Mitchell
and engaging him in a conversation. As amusing as the story is
already, Mitchell's reaction furthered the experience. Actually, if I
recall the situation correctly, I began by say, "Hey, are you the lead
singer of alien ant farm?" And he responded, startled, "Ye..ye…yes…,"
Basically, the man was frightened out if his mind. I'm assuming,
because he's a stage performer who I wouldn't think would be prone to
shyness except when performing (though I think there are personality
types like that out there), that this dude was probably messed up on
some sort of drug and feared for his life. Heck, I would be scared of
four Pantera fans accosted me and struck up a conversation. The
conversation was brief, but a mention was made of Dave and Joe
attending the Warped Tour when it came through St. Louis in the
following days.
Sure enough, Dave and Joe caught Mitchell's eye at the concert. He
wasn't too f'ed up back in KC, I guess, since he remembered them, and
proceeded to silently offer them a sip of his lukewarm Busch Light.
After thinking about it further, I think maybe Dryden Mitchell is a
little messed up in one way or another. Anyway, it makes for a good
story, right?
Steve Irwin
While it's turned into overkill at this point, it is weird how
gripping and affecting this story has become. I'll admit, it stunned
me when I heard the news that a stingray had stung the Crocodile
Hunter in the chest, ironically while he was doing some "soft pieces" for
his daughter's television show, due to inclement weather postponing
his more dangerous shoot.
I haven't quite figured out why it has affected me like it did. Maybe
I just had that idea stuck in my head that he was somehow invincible
(a farce I know, but you get what I'm saying: he tackled alligators,
taunted snakes by the tail, and constantly stared death in the face).
I never watched the guy regularly. I was still stunned when I first
heard he had died, but was more amazed when it was due to an attack
from a normally docile animal. He had no idea it was coming (not that
he was expecting it whenever he held a king cobra by the neck, but I
bet the adrenaline was pumping a little at that point), and if had
been hit anywhere other than directly in the heart, he might still be
here.
In the end, I think it was the combination of Steve Irwin, this
energetic and cool TV personality, dying, the animal that actually
took his life, and the incredibly small chances of him actually dying
from such an attack (I'm assuming only a strike to the heart, a major
artery or vein, or the brain, if that were possible) that probably
took me aback.
It's just kind of weird, you know? It isn't affecting me like a family
member dying or anything, don't read into it like that, it's just one
of those stories that catches you by surprise. (Dimebag Darrell from
Pantera was probably the last celebrity that really shocked me when
they died, when he was shot at a concert in December of '04. See some details about it here.)
Two vexing problems
Though these issues are rather trite, I'm wondering if anyone has
these problems like I do.
Lately, I've been fighting allergies (I don't know to what
specifically I'm allergic to; something in nature is what I've
narrowed it down to). Anyway, it's led to a runny nose, sneezing, and
general chest congestion. The problem that plagues me is that when I
blow my nose with a tissue, because of my manly stubble, I get these
particles of tissue stuck in the "mustache" I have (I quote it because
I'm not growing a mustache; it's just the hair that forms after a day
or two of growth…as an unrelated aside, I'm having to shave about
every other day now and needless to say, it's quite an inconvenience).
Am I the only who is having this tissue in the 'stache problem? I'm
surmising that this is the reason that the handkerchief was invented,
most probably by a man suffering from this very problem. My opinion of
the handkerchief was always one of disgust, but perhaps now I can see
why carrying around a rag of dried snot might have its benefits.
Monogrammed perhaps? (X-mas isn't too far off, you know, and it'd make
a fine gift. For me, to be specific.)
(Edit: Gretchen got a sneak preview of this post, and said there was no way I was carrying around gross handkerchiefs. I guess she'll get used to me having a flaky, papery mustache then.)
The other problem that has irked me as of late are what I have deemed
"unwieldy" box flaps. Normally that refers to something that is
awkward or hard to handle (like an armoire perhaps). In this case, I
mean a box flap that is not easy to penetrate at initial use or that
does not easily clasp once it is broken in. The top of a box of cereal
is probably the most common example. It really bothers me when doesn't
clasp like it should or it simply gets torn off when the box is open
or that it won't even go together with ease. They've had this box flap
thing for decades now, I'm sure, and I figure they would have
perfected the design by this point. It's quite possibly my anal side
coming out, but I really prefer having those boxes clasped with the
flap, as they should be, prior to putting them away in the pantry. Is
that really to much to ask, you cereal mogul sons-of-bitches?
these problems like I do.
Lately, I've been fighting allergies (I don't know to what
specifically I'm allergic to; something in nature is what I've
narrowed it down to). Anyway, it's led to a runny nose, sneezing, and
general chest congestion. The problem that plagues me is that when I
blow my nose with a tissue, because of my manly stubble, I get these
particles of tissue stuck in the "mustache" I have (I quote it because
I'm not growing a mustache; it's just the hair that forms after a day
or two of growth…as an unrelated aside, I'm having to shave about
every other day now and needless to say, it's quite an inconvenience).
Am I the only who is having this tissue in the 'stache problem? I'm
surmising that this is the reason that the handkerchief was invented,
most probably by a man suffering from this very problem. My opinion of
the handkerchief was always one of disgust, but perhaps now I can see
why carrying around a rag of dried snot might have its benefits.
Monogrammed perhaps? (X-mas isn't too far off, you know, and it'd make
a fine gift. For me, to be specific.)
(Edit: Gretchen got a sneak preview of this post, and said there was no way I was carrying around gross handkerchiefs. I guess she'll get used to me having a flaky, papery mustache then.)
The other problem that has irked me as of late are what I have deemed
"unwieldy" box flaps. Normally that refers to something that is
awkward or hard to handle (like an armoire perhaps). In this case, I
mean a box flap that is not easy to penetrate at initial use or that
does not easily clasp once it is broken in. The top of a box of cereal
is probably the most common example. It really bothers me when doesn't
clasp like it should or it simply gets torn off when the box is open
or that it won't even go together with ease. They've had this box flap
thing for decades now, I'm sure, and I figure they would have
perfected the design by this point. It's quite possibly my anal side
coming out, but I really prefer having those boxes clasped with the
flap, as they should be, prior to putting them away in the pantry. Is
that really to much to ask, you cereal mogul sons-of-bitches?
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