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  • My Journey To See, Well, Journey

    And Foreigner and Night Ranger in Seattle. My first visit to the land of Dr. Frasier Crane.

    City was nice (more on that in a future post), and I found a cool record store, although it was hard to find places in which it was acceptable to smoke. I hate that. Although there is something to be said for the joys of sneaking a furtive smoke under the disapproving radar of the Anti-Smoking Nazis.

    However, on the never say never again front, I had all but decided it would take a lot to get me back (I was there for 3 days and not one person offered to sell me Heroin or a blowjob - I remember when Seattle was cool, now it seems to have died and moved to the suburbs), when I discovered I could go see my beloved Seahawks and the quote unquote Dream Team Philadelphia Eagles on December 1st without missing any work (thank you, Air Miles), for a nominal charge. Although I still have to book my hotel room and will have to suffer through Air Canada connecting flights in Vancouver. A small price to pay, as it means that my goal of a trip to Las Vegas next year at least once each month is still all too alive. And no, I have absolutely NO idea what it is that I'm running from with all this travel. Not a great deal of interest, either. I spent waaaay too much time over analyzing things, events, my own damn self, whatever during the past (see the Kendra years). No time think. Must move.

    Anyhoo, if you're at the game or watching on TV, keep an eye out for me. Have bail money ready, in case the 'Hawks lose and we burn the fucker DOWN.


    Apropos of nothing (simply how I roll, I read it in Lonn Friend's book, and it stuck), an inspirational quote: The Secret (what can I say? I'm New Age) is never have joint bank accounts and never get married.

    Gene Simmons


    And now, back to the show. Wasn't Seattle the birthplace of quote unquote grunge? And yet, 3 bands who haven't been relevant (other than lead singer changes) in 25 years sell out the stadium-sized venue. I was hoping there'd be empty seats and folks would be moved up to fill the empty seats.

    Night Ranger is one of the few 80's bands I've never really been all that familiar with. That being said, I was still there for their set (Key Arena was across the street and past a bus stop from my hotel, even the correct entrance for the section I was sitting in), and was pleasantly surprised. Jack Blades has an excellent stage presence, the band has some good songs, and they had the sense to (again, I'm hopelessly old school) stick to what the audience came to hear. With the exception of:

    - a more than welcome rendition of the Damn Yankees (Blades, Tommy Shaw, Ted Nugent and some other guy) High Enough, always a personal favorite. Especially if I'm in a certain sort of mood.

    - a sped up version of the first verse of the Eagles' (November 19th in Las Vegas) timeless Hotel California

    Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not going to rush out and buy the band's discography, but when they pop up on my XM Radio, I'll listen. Good set. Even if Blades couldn't remember it was Friday. It was neat to hear that Seattle was where they'd played their first show (with Heart and Aldo Nova), also. What? I'm a geek. Blow me.


    I have no idea who Foreigner's new lead singer is (yeah, like I do any research, you know me better than that), and I miss Lou Gramm, but new guy was pretty solid. Even finishing the set after what looked like serious injury attempting to climb back onto the stage after the obligatory jaunt into the crowd. Rock and ROLL. It was, after all, the last night of the tour.

    Oh, yes, the show was replete with MILF's a plenty in the crowd. Unfortunately, not in my section, Although there was one that shook her married ass pretty good. But I digress. I do that a lot. It's not like my quote unquote thoughts are organized. I take a few notes when things strike themselves upon me and then I riff on the freestyle tip. A nice little peak behind the curtain. Moving on.

    Foreigner also had the sense to play the hits. I knew every song, which I always enjoy. Light show was cool, too. Now's the twilight of your careers, boys. Simply re-record the classics with the new singer, sell it as a greatest hits package, and maybe record a live disc; then sit back and let the royalty stream flow your way. And bang as many MILF groupies as you can. Maybe film and sell (thank you, Phil Varone) it. Damn, maybe I should've been an accountant or financial planner, rather than the voice of a generation. Next life.

    Because, oh my yes, the MILF's and Cougars in the audience were up and dancing when rockers such as Dirty White Boy and Double Vision were played. And, because of the age group, involved, during I Want To Know What Love Is (with the other 2 bands and everybody's road crew singing backup) there were almost as many lighters as cell phones held aloft. Again, old school. Nope, I didn't take any pictures, I was pretty far away, I still need a better zoom app, and I had a touch of vertigo from being in the row of the upper deck (the show WAS sold out, after all, and I still have 2 (now 3) more trips to make this year; moneys don't grow on trees, only on leafs and opium blossoms, poppies) right against the railing, looking straight down. The usher in my section did relate a cool story about some chump nearly toppling over said railing at a KISS concert. See, things almost always have a way of tying themselves together.


    I was thrilled yesterday when, despite having booked an appointment a week and a half prior and taking my car in at 0700, the service department still hadn't gotten to it at 4 pm and likely wouldn't have it done until mid day today. All I'm getting is a fucking oil change and coolant flush. Good thing I made that appointment, though.

    But I'm not bitter. Much. Hopefully it'll be ready at a decent time today as I have to be at work at 0400 tomorrow.


    I've always been a fan of Journey. Always will be. Yes, they were better with (whatever happened to?) Steve Perry, but they're still good. I do, however, wonder what kind of groupies the new lead singer attracts. Understandably, he put a lot more effort into the band's new material than the classics. I'm pretty sure there were only 3 new songs played. You know, the ones where the audience sat down, stopped dancing, and went mute. I even bought me a used copy of the remastered version of the classic Escape disc for the live in Houston versions of Don't Stop Believin' (fucking Glee cast ruined it), Open Arms and Who's Crying Now. Totally worth the $5 I paid.

    The new guy can totally wail. His vocals were, however, occasionally overwhelmed by the volume of the band. Fortunately, this didn't occur when they opened with my favorite Journey tune, Worlds Apart/Separate Ways or whatever it's called. An excellent choice, as it got the crowd into proceedings immediately. And answered the inevitable will they or won't they question for me.

    Okay, I get the drum solo. Even the 2 guitar solos, but a keyboard solo (I learned how to play the hook to Seven Nation Army by the White Stripes on the keyboard at the Experience Music Project, even played some drums, too, good times), really? Whatever. It was a good show. I'd definitely see them again, and I would've even bought a shirt (nope, not going to buy Eclipse, I bought Revelation for the DVD and the CD of the new lineup's version of the classics; well, that and the fact it was only about $12 at WalMart), had I been able to find the merch booths. Not that I looked or anything. Sadly, they didn't play Who's Crying Now. But I can live with that, too.

    Bottom line, if any or all of these bands comes to your town, check 'em out. My ticket was $36.50 plus (Evil Empire) Ticketmaster's inevitable service charges (cocksuckers), a more than reasonable price for over 3 hours of music. And MILF's.



  • Dr. Phil Is Turning An Entire Generation Of Men Into Pussies

    McGraw, Donahue, whatever. Anyone that makes men talk about their 'feelings'.

    Not even at gunpoint, baby. Writing about them's one thing, it ain't like anyone reads this mess, anyway. Not even I.


    Now y'all KNOW how I hate to make with the venom and vitriol (although I love using those 2 words) hereabouts, but I simply must speak my piece.

    (Ascends soapbox)

    So, the other afternoon, I was perusing the TV listings on my digital cable and I saw that Dr. Phil (what, exactly, is his 'doctorate' in? I've a sneaking suspicion he signed up for it online, as I became an ordained minister in the Universal Life Church of Milford, Illinois) was featuring Amateur Porn that day. Now, being, you know, a guy, I'm always up (I won't even dignify that) for a rousing discussion of amateur porn. Who isn't?

    Philsy had this cute Oriental chick, Lisa Ling (who should do some amateur porn, I'd watch) that is doing some documentary series on Oprah's network, on talking about a couple (hot blonde wife, decent looking guy) that had gotten themselves out of debt by starting a website whereby folks like me can watch them boning. Good times. Ms. Ling, having aspirations of journalist-hood, was relatively objective in her reportage of the couple's scenario. They had paid off their debts. They're able to spend every day with their young daughter. They make $ for doing what they'd do to each other anyway. You know, a realistic portrayal of the actual and factual.

    Then comes Quick Draw McGraw with his usual ''this is wrong, what are you doing to your daughter? blah blah blah yada yada yada'' nonsense. NO objectivity whatsoever. But he doesn't really need to display any now does he? He's establsihed, with a cult of minions who will do his bidding. Objectivity simply wouldn't play to his core demographic. They want, nay, fucking NEED to look down on someone to make their empty lives (why else would they be watching this drivel, the next episode was Phil-ter auditioning for Dancing With the Stars or some such) seem a little bit less so.

    Okay, maybe I'm just angry because I was promised Amateur Porn and didn't even get to see the strategically placed black bars and/or dots covering up the interesting parts. But really, is this the voice we want our wives, girlfriends, sisters, mothers and attractive girl cousins listening to and regurgitating at us? State the facts. Present both sides of the issue. Let the viewers/audience draw their own conclusions. Yeah, I know. Crazy talk. Next I'll be speaking of unicorns and the G-spot. No, wait, that last one's real.

    And, before, I step down from the soapbox, my take. Dude, times are tough. Sometimes you have to do things you otherwise might not in order to not only provide for but spend time with your family. As long as no one gets hurt, more power to you. And did I mention the wife was kinda fly? I'd totally check her out in action. Fucking Phil-th didn't even show their address.

    (Stumbles off soapbox)


    I'm liking that Cosmopolitan Magazine has (no I'm not sure of the issue, ask your GF) declared that there is an actual gene in the male human (I believe the term used was Clooney gene) that genetically predisposes him to NOT get married. Again, some men are genetically predisposed to not get married. This is what the kids refer to as a Get Out Of Jail Free card. I highly recommend finding the issue, purchasing or downloading it, printing the article, laminating it and keeping it on your person at all times. You're welcome. But I won't take all the credit, I also saw this one on Chelsea Lately.

    No, I don't know what issue. I'm already married. Ish. Check my archives from 2005.


    And I still say that Dr. Phil looks exactly like Jeffrey Tambor from the Larry Sanders Show. But with less talent. Last one, I promise.


    I like the new Shaun White ads for Stride gum. I'm weird that way.


    No, Virginia, Farmville is NOT the same as playing Fantasy Sports. The woman that told me that was a swallower (which made me break all my rules), so I kept the truth to myself for the duration of our (because it's me) all-too-brief relationship.


    Okay, I'm on board now, although I was reluctant initially: Ryan Reynolds IS Green Lantern. Too bad that 2 Guys, A Girl And A Pizza Place didn't work out for him, though. And if the chick that plays Carol Ferris is, as I suspect, also on Gossip Girl, I may have to peruse those first 2 seasons I bought once upon a time. Damn near any TV show that catches my eye and is $20 or less, I buy. It's the having, not the using, that matters.


    Whilst perusing a biography of former UNLV Runnin' Rebels coach Jerry Tarkanian, I was dismayed to discover that, Once Upon A Time (starts October 23rd, I'm quite looking forward to it, the lead actress is cute and amusing in a quirky way) UNLV used to give full academic scholarships to high school class valedictorians. Of which I (prepare to be stunned, wait for it...) kinda was one. Sigh. I could've went to colleg in Las Vegas, and by now I'd be a dealer of some sort and I'd have never met any of y'all or the folks I mention in passing.

    Speaking of high school: I'm still UNthrilled that my graduating class of 24 fucking people has to this point not been able to get together for a reunion of any sort. And it's only been 21 years (every day, I express my gratitude to the universe that I look nowhere near my age and have managed to stay thin) since we graduated. And we had a bunch of folks that liked to organize things, too. I'm also pretty sure that most of the folks are still in and around my humdrum little home town. Whatever. Maybe there'll be a 25 year reunion. And I'll still have my boyish good looks (that I'm finally growing into and acknowledging) and I'll still be thin. I'll probably bring a black hooker as my date. Simply how I roll.


    And, on the reunion front: word around the campfire has it that the Stone Roses (cool, but no the Smiths) will be reuniting to do some shows in 2012. If they make it to Vegas, I'll probably go out and see them. I've always liked (Song of the Day:) Breaking Into Heaven. And I think my feelings about Las Vegas are more than on the record.


    Well, I'm off to finish reading The Secret (I'm all about the Law of Attraction these days, ALL about it) and pack some things for my trip to Seattle to see Journey (it's okay to be jealous) this weekend. Namaste.

  • Why I Hate Best Buy

    I happened by there last week to pick up seasons 1 and 2 of That 70's Show, very reasonably priced. But then I made the mistake of checking to see what else there was to purchase. To my surprise and, yes, delight, Seasons 1 and 2 of The Monkees were finally out on DVD. A little more than I like to spend, but dude, it's The Monkees. I've been waiting years. So, even though I knew I'd likely find them cheaper later, I sucked it up and purchased. Naturally, yesterday I found them for $5 cheaper each. Sons of bitches! All right, maybe I just hate my lack of will power and my need to work on delaying gratification. Love The Monkees, though. Micky's my favorite, but Peter's goofiness and hair just crack me up.


    Next caller.


    I know I'm not supposed to say these things, which is likely whyfore I do, but Adam Carolla has convinced me that Charlie Manson (no relation) is locked up for insanity because, despite having a harem of brainwashed hot teenage girls willing to do ANYTHING for him (in all sorts of combinations), in an era when AIDS didn't exist, he decided to waste their talents and obedience on a killing spree.

    And that's why he shall never be let out, until the day his stupid ass gets itself perished. Come on, Charlie, a harem. Dude. Why?


    So, whilst reading the pain and emotion filling the pages of Rob Sheffield's Love Is A Mixtape, I realized I need to alter the tale of my drunken ONS marriage to have my bride, the love of my life, die tragically much too young. This may entail the purchase of a wedding band of some sort (next month I'll hit a pawn shop in Vegas) and temporarily disabling my online dating profiles so I can edit them to reflect my new pseudo widowhood.

    It should likely trouble me more that, despite the fact I'm an ordained minister (you can do anything online), I completely lack any semblance of a soul. And yet, not so much.

    Speaking of which, it's likely a bad thing that the only things I remember about those I've been intimate with involve vignettes of depraved sexuality. I blank out the time we went to the farmers' market, but I remember how she woke me up after our first night (2nd date) together. And how we spent that first night. Which lead to our inevitable expiry date. Turns out I'm really not a very good person.

    However, in my defence:

    A good blow job feels like love every time - Cameron Diaz


    If you are having trouble getting your GF or what have you to watch porn with you (one of my favorite characteristics about my former ex BFF is that she'd occasionally surprise me with new porn she'd purchased), introduce her to the XXX parody. Trust me. The average woman may not be into watching 2 hours of anal DP's and blow bangs (yeah, you know who you are), but she'll be a little more open to watching This Ain't Beverly Hills 90210 (and where the fuck is Kelly, anyway? how can you have 90210 without Kelly? but The Jenny Hendrix Experience (just learned this one this morning, expect to see more of it) as Donna is well worth the price of admission), and possibly re-enacting some of the scenes. She can always tell herself that she thought it really WAS 90210. Cognitive dissonance. Learn it. Live it. Love it.


    Again, I'm glad I opted for the iPhone over the African-American Berry.


    Why are Canadian scientists rebuilding the Bubonic Plague? I read The Stand. Soon it'll be time to grab Molly Ringwald and head for Vegas. Boulder? Fuck Boulder, it ain't been the same since Mork and Mindy got cancelled.

    Hmmm...I wonder if there's a XXX parody of that. There really should be. And my all time faves are Edward Penishands and Moonlusting.


    So now there's a Kardashian App.

    Really, what more needs to be said on that one?


    Clue number 7777 that my friends have all grown up and moved away while I still live like a kid: I found myself in a discussion regarding cholesterol this week.

    There really isn't anything here for me anymore other than my gig. Soon it'll be time to insurance fire my condo, sell my possessions and move to Vegas. With or without Molly Ringwald. Which reminds me, I need to DL the Breakfast Club parody.

    And yes, Judd Nelson was harsh in that one.


    I've yet to see an unattractive Australian woman. Do they feed the fatties to the crocodiles or something?


    My primary ambition in life now is to get to be in a forthcoming episode of Fuck Team 5. There's just something about porn stars having sex with regular folk that brings a tear to my eye, a smile to my heart and a tent to my pants. Perhaps with The Jenny Hendrix Experience.

    Again, I'm following the Law of Attraction and putting positive energy out into the universe. My one concession to all the New Age bullshit out there.


    Tesla is the underappreciated yet valuable utility infielder of the 80's hair bands that I grew up listening to. Their songs and albums were tight yet unappreciated. Especially Love Song (of the Day). I'm glad I saw them open for Motley Crue on the Dr. Feelgood tour and sad that they're playing the House of Blues in Vegas November 17th when I don't return until the 19th. If you're in the area, check 'em out.


    I get my limited knowledge of current events from Chelsea Lately reruns. Hell, I've even read Chuy's book of wisdom. And, after watching the show a few times and reading Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang, I've come to the conclusion that Ms. Handler would be someone Cool To Hang Out With - the highest honor I could ever bestow (pronounced see-tau, for those of an Asian Persuasion).

    Mostly because she could definitely help me pick up chicks, but not entirely. She has the soul of a prankster and she's full on, flat out fucking funny. Also love me the alliteration.


    So, when I look in the mirror, I sometimes wonder how it is that I don't have a harem. I looked around and there conclusions were. I'm attractive, tall, intelligent, funny, remained thin and am obviously humble; yet have never been married. Red flags, all.

    It's the only conclusion I can arrive at for my current slump. Well, that and all the talk of hookers and the fact I rarely leave the Manor. Minor details, those. Focus.

    Which brings me back to my notion of killing off the pseudo-wife. That one just keeps sounding better and better. Now if I can convince my social square (again, all married and in the suburbs) to Just Go With It. Or...some new friends who won't know any different. Hmmm (rubs chin thoughtfully) could be, could be.


    I'm off to buy Green Lantern on DVD. Have a safe and yet fun weekend that you completely forget on Monday morning.