Hello, I'm Hervé Villechaize for Fantasy Brand Condoms

Nothing's illegal if you got the blues

So I was surfing around this morning. Checking out some of those orphan blogs and message boards, you know the ones I mean, the blogs and boards that are there one day and gone the next. The kind of blogs and boards that offer sort of ehhhhh illegal music downloads, and I found a board this morning that had a Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young bootleg concert performance, now I'm not a big CSNY fan, but hey, Neil Young is god, and further hey, did I ever tell you that I saw Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young in concert back when I was home on leave from the Air Force in November and December of 1969?
So anyway, I see the link for the CSNY concert bootleg, and I click on it.
So, it's Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young in concert,
December 14, 1969, the Masonic Auditorium, Detroit, Michigan ...
December 14, 1969, the Masonic Auditorium, Detroit, Michigan ...
December 14, 1969, the Masonic Auditorium, Detroit, Michigan ...
December 14, 1969, the Masonic Auditorium, Detroit, Michigan ...
Hmmmmmmmmm, huhhhhhhhhhhh, what????
That's me, that's my concert, yeah, the one I saw, Air Force, leave, home, December, 1969, yep, I was freakin' there!!!
Oh man, could I tell you stories about that concert, and some of them would even be true!!!
So, yeah, I downloaded it, because you know, I've had the blues lately, and ...
Well anyway, it took a few minutes for the file to download, and yeah, I'm getting excited, because, well you know, the memories, and the stories, and ahhhhh, I started getting goosebumps in anticipation.
Soooo, the file downloads, and I open it, and blah blah blah, a couple of songs, a lot of random guitar tuning, a lot of lame and inane I'm cooler than you banter between Crosby, and Stills, and Nash, and I'm about to write this off to experience, when all of a sudden ...
Neil Young cuts through all the bullshit and starts singing
On The Way Home
And there I am.
Nineteen years old, in a concert hall in Detroit, home on leave, just a week before I was heading overseas, not knowing what was in store ...
And Neil Young just sums it all up in a three minute and fifteen second song, and I guess that's why Neil Young is God.
I'm sort of gashlumpting all up right now, so I guess I'll leave it at that.

Even Davy Crockett gets the blues

Oh man.
I woke up this morning about six o'clock and turned on the History Channel and there was a program on about Davy Crockett, Davy Fuckin' Crockett. When I was about 5 years old Davy F Crockett was the biggest thing in the world, thanks to TV and Uncle Walt Disney.
F Crockett was bigger than Elvis, he was bigger than the Beatles, he was bigger than god ... Davy Fuckin' Crockett was god!!!
I had Davy Crockett underpants, which I would show to anyone interested at the drop of a hat.
I had a Davy Crockett coonskin cap, not the bogus one with the short tail, but the genuine one with the long tail.
I had the little orange and yellow Davy Crockett phonograph records that you could buy at the supermarket for about a quarter each.
I had a Davy Crockett rifle ... Old Betsy, yeah, Old Betsy, yeah, he named his fuckin' gun, wanna make something of it???
I had a complete set of Davy Crockett peanut butter glasses, and yeah, I still have one of them, and maybe if you're lucky I'll take a picture of it and post it in here.
I had a Davy Crockett pocket knife that I got for my fifth birthday, a real goddamn pocket knife that my parents took away when I tried to eviscerate my sister after she failed to show Davy the proper respect.
Yeah, Davy Fuckin' Crockett was a "guy thing" but even the girls tried to horn in on it. My little down the street girlfriend, who really wasn't my girlfriend, but my mother and her mother thought we looked adorable together, so I guess she was my girlfriend, even my down the street girlfriend had a white coonskin cap which supposedly Davy Fuckin' Crockett's wife Molly Fuckin' Crockett wore, but it never would have worked out between us, and when I say us I don't mean Molly Crockett and me I mean my little down the street girlfriend and me, because I was five and she was four, and the age difference was just too great, and she started hanging around with the guys in a rock band, and then she got mono in college, and how can you spend your life with a girl who gets mono in college, and I bet she doesn't still have her coonskin cap anyway.
Yeah, and where's Davy Crockett now that we need him, huh?
The hunter hero.
The common man.
The dreamer.
The adventurer.
Yeah, right.
I bet he didn't even like peanut butter.

Alright, who stole my Davy Crockett glass?

No Way VIII

I told you I had the blues.

No Way VII

It's seven a.m,
And I've got them again,
The early morning,
They strike without warning,
My ennui is showing,
Negativity growing,
Harmonica blowing,
Good lord, I've got them again ... blues

Take meds - check
Make coffee - check
Turn on tv - check
AMC - check
TCM - check
FUC - check
KME - check
Ponder life - check
Forehead slap - check
Sneeze, again, again, again, again, again, again ... again - check
Tap out a melodic tune with my fingers - check
Swivel back and forth, back and forth, back and forth - check
Stifle a yawn - check
Suppress a fart - check
Clear my throat - check
Cut the deck - check
Ummmm - check
Hey look, the Three Stooges are on - check
It's a Curly - check
N'yuk, n'yuk, n'yuk - check
But I like Shemp too - check
Ehhhh - check
I'm going back to bed - check

No Way VI

What could be causing these blues of mine?
1. Lack of cheese, and when I say cheese I mean sex?
2. Too much 60s dirge like music?
3. Fat guy pants?
4. My act is no longer an act?
5. The one step away from being retarded woman who always tries to talk to me at the Burger King?
6. The fact that they automatically give me the Over 55 discount without even asking?
7. The crap I used to post is 100 times better than the crap I post now?
8. Bruiser Boz Detweiler's lack of impact?
9. Realizing that none of you will read down this far?
10. My blog title becoming a self fulfilling prophecy?

No Way V

Me: I'm going to the supermarket do you want anything?
MB: I can't think of anything.
Me: How about some cranberry juice?
MB: Cucumbers???
Me: No, cranberry juice!!!
MB: Hamburgers???
Me: No, CRANBERRY JUICE.
MB: Garage floor cleaner???
Me: No, CRANBERRY ... ah, forget it.
MB: Oh, cranberry juice.
Me: Doh!!!
MB: You should write down all these mistakes I make, I bet you could
make a book out of them.

And still I have the blues.

No Way IV

Ok, so I still have the blues, and I also have a bad back and a draining sinus, and to top it all off there are gale force winds blowing outside, and Gail, or Gayle, or yeah even Gale was a pretty popular girls name when I was growing up. You couldn't fling a dead cat without it landing at the saddle shoed clad feet of some chick named Gayle/Gail/Gale, and yeah, there really was a very popular actress who starred in a couple of 50s sitcoms who was named Gale Storm, and she always played this petite, perky, plucky career girl who, along with her older best friend usually played by Zasu Pitts, would spend the whole thirty minutes trying to snag a man, well, Gale would try to snag a man, because even back in the 50s it was pretty obvious even to a wee lad like myself that the only person Zasu was interested in snagging was Gale Storm, if you get my drift, yeah, so Gale would spend the whole thirty minutes trying to snag a man, usually a rich handsome one, or at least a handsome one who would one day be rich ... but still I have the blues.
And ...
Gail was also a pretty popular guys name if you lived in the south, and I think that whole girl name for a guy is pretty much limited to parts of the south where cousins married cousins or sheep.

Perky, plucky and petite Gale Storm

No Way III

Still got the blues
Da dah da dun
Bib overall blues
Da dah da dun
Oh yeah

No way II

It's two thirty in the morning and I'm listening to the Jefferson Airplane.
Oobie doobie doo.
Nah, I've changed my mind, I'm not posting.
I've got the blues.

No way

I've got the blues.

Yourself you'd touch, but not too much

This song is one of the reasons that I am glad I am not young, or a girl, or blue.
Young Girl Blues by Donovan

Doo Doo Doo Looking Out My Front Door

Ok, my front window, but maybe ever wrote a song about looking through windows, well, except Look Through Any Window by the Hollies, but that's looking in not out, and this is looking out not in.
Anyway, I woke up and there they were the dreaded East Tawas Killer Deer.

Floppy Diskette Pics

While rooting around looking for something else I found five floppy diskettes with a bunch of pictures from way back before the digital days.

My soon to be Aunt Rachel, my Uncle Danny, and a not quite 13 year old Boz.



They were like my two favorite adult people at the time. My Uncle Danny had always been more like a big brother to me, and Rachel was the first adult who treated me like a person and not a kid.

Rach and Danny had met when they were about 13 years old when Rachel came up from Kentucky to spend the summer with her brother and his wife who were neighbors of my grandparents.
Years later she told me that she knew from the first time she saw my Uncle Danny that he was the guy she was going to marry, unless Elvis somehow became available.
It's been six years since my Uncle Dan passed away and my Aunt Rachel still hasn't gotten over it.

The Detweiler Brothers

Check out the Detweiler Brothers, a homage to 70's style midwest independant wrestling promotions maintained by Rebel Leady Boy and myself.

Talk like Samuel L. Jackson Weekend, Part II

Samuel L. Jackson reads the Gettysburg Address.

Samuel L. Jackson's version

Four score and seven years ago a bunch of pasty skinned white ass mother fuckers got together to see how they could keep my black mother fuckin' ass down.

Now what we got here is a bunch of crazy ass white mother fuckers busting caps in each others ass. A bunch of white mother fucking gang bangers if you will, trying to prove to each other that their mother fuckin' white ass dick is bigger than his mother fuckin' white ass dick, and my mother fuckin' black ass dick just ain't gonna buy it. Puh-lease mother fucker.

It don't matter what those crazy white ass mother fuckers are trying do, it ain't up to their mother fuckin' white asses or my mother fuckin' black ass to preach no mother fuckin' words about what went down in this mother of all mother fuckin' drive by shootings. We'll just have to leave that to the mother fuckin' brother upstairs. Dig.

Abraham Lincoln's version

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Touched for the very first time

So, Boz, how are you?

Crap, I feel like crap.

Oh, this isn't a good time. Should I just go?

'Sup to you.

Wait a second. It's one in the afternoon and you still aren't dressed, and your hair's a mess, and I bet if you were to breathe on me ... well, just don't even try to breathe on me.

Fuck you. I'm in pain. I think I have two broken toes, and everything hurts. Nobody knows the pain that is Boz.

C'mon Bozzie. Up, up, up and at 'em.

Maybe you should just go away. Did I tell you my vocal chords hurt too?

Say, Bozzie, why don't you wash up, get dressed, have a nice HAM sandwich and go out to the Dollar Store. Everyone knows you love the Dollar Store ... and HAM!!!

Hmmmmm, I do sort of hear the siren song of the Dollar Store beckoning me.
Hey ... I told you I like ham, I don't love ham, I just like ham, ok, it's not that I need ham, or obsess about ham, or dream about ham, or have a freezer full of ham and ham by products, I just like ham, ok.

Fine, yeah, so anyway, what you been doing lately Bozzerino?

I'm re-inventing myself ... holy shit, did you see that???

What???

Oh never mind, it was nothing, nothing, nothing, forget I even brought it up. I think it was another Faux Vietnam Flashback, I've been having a lot of those since I stopped taking the zoloft a month ago.

Re-inventing yourself, explain.

I'd rather not go into it right now. I'd rather be totally re-invented before I speak about my re-invention. But, it's not one of those Madonna like re-inventions, well, not a LOT like one of those Madonna re-inventions. I am adding dancers ... but I've already said too much.
Do you have any cough drops, I'd kill for a cough drop, or a gun, I mean some gum, yeah, do you have any cough drops or a gun ... GUM, GUM, I mean GUM!!!
GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM.

Ahhh, ok Bozley, I'm going to run now. They're having a Kurosawa retrospective down at the Theater of the Tragically Hip this weekend, and I promised some friends that I'd do the organic popcorn. Toodles.*

GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM, GUM.


*And as always the voice of Boz's conscience was played by the bastard love child of Frank Sinatra and Gracie Slick, Hieronymus Glick Flick Slick Sinatra Love.

Only Sixteen Hours To Go

Hey, mother fuckers it's only sixteen hours till Talk Like Samuel L. Jackson Weekend officially kicks off.



Don't pull any punk ass shit on me now or I might have to bust a cap in your mother fuckin' ass.

I have become Bruiser Boz Detweiler!

I am Bruiser Boz Detweiler, and along with my brother Jonnie Hardcore Detweiler we will be defending our tag team belts against all comers on the tri state indie circuit this spring and summer.


Jonnie Hardcore Detweiler


Bruiser Boz Detweiler ... Fear the claw!!!

Talk like Samuel L. Jackson Weekend

From Friday 4PM EDT till Monday 2AM EDT it will be talk like Samuel L. Jackson Weekend.



Don't any of you jive-ass mother fuckers let me down.

Easter is now officially over

Easter 1961 - First roll of color film.

Happy Easter - The Ham Manifesto

No boz, is good boz

At the corner of Utica Road and Twelve Mile

So anyway, I had a dream about you the other night.
I was at home, but not the home I am living at now, I was at home in the home I used to live in before I moved up here, I was at the home I lived in when I used to live in Detroit, well, I didn't actually live in Detroit, but when you are from Detroit you refer to Detroit and all the surrounding area as Detroit, of course we drew the line at actually paying Detroit city taxes because that would have been just wrong, and stupid.
So anyway, I was at home, and I was expecting you, I mean your visit had been planned weeks, no, months in advance, and I was expecting you, and all of a sudden there you were looking in the window, and I must say that you were looking really hot, with your long hair, and bangs, and you were thinner than what I had expected, and I was all nervous and everything, so I went into the bedroom acting like I had to make the bed or something, and then you knocked at the door, and MB, yeah, MB was in the dream too, and, no it doesn't get real weird or anything, she was just in the dream, and MB answered the door, and you came in the house, and you were looking really really really hot, I mean even hotter than I acutally thought you were, if that is possible, and I sort of snuck a look at you from your reflection in the wall mirror that I didn't know I had, and you were wearing sort of red and black and white checked pants, and some kind of layered looked top all in red and black and greys, and all sorts of spangly jangly necklaces and bracelets, and a vest, yeah, you were wearing a vest, a leather vest, and MB said:
Oh look ........ is here
And I tried being all cool and witty and said something totally lame, and as soon as I said it I knew it was totally lame, and I wanted to hide under the bed, or disappear.
And then you started talking to MB, and you told her how you had been dying to meet her for years and years and years.
And you and MB just started becoming the fastest of friends.
And I was standing in the bedroom, thinking ...
Well what about me???
And you and MB were talking and laughing.
And I was getting all neurotic, and psychotic, and weirded out.
And then I guess I woke up because the dream was over.
And really, I don't even think of you like that.
You know, in that way.
It's just the dream, you know.
It was weird.
And you must never tell anyone that it was you that I dreamt about, because that would be really awkward and uncomfortable for both of us, and yeah, probably ten times more awkward and uncomfortable for you, but still, you know, okay.

Fuck it boz, quit editing and re-editing the post and just put it to bed!!!

Frank and Mike pretending they are Mike and Frank, respectively

I was actually channel surfing one evening back in, oh, I don't know, late 1967, or early 1968, when I stumbled across this little add on at the end of the Monkee's television show, and channel surfing was a lot easier back then because there were only four VHF channels and two UHF channels, and one of the UHF channels was Educational TV which is what they called PBS before it was called PBS, and I was going to say I never watched it, but I did, I did really watch it, because they had all sorts of good shows like Pete Seeger singing folksongs with Cisco Houston, and Joan Baez, and Dave Von Ronk, and a bunch of other folk singing type guys and gals.
But back to the Monkees ...
I think this was either at the peak of their popularity or just after and all the guys forced NBC to let them do little end of show vignettes to show how creative they were.
Ummm, and Mickey had Tim Buckley on the show to show just how relevant and folky he was, and Davy had some guy who wrote show tunes on to show just how Broadway he was, and Mike had Frank on because he wanted to show everybody he was more than just a stupid hat and sideburns, Mike, not Frank.
So, yeah.

Just another shot in the dark

I'm sort of tap dancing in quicksand blog wise, aren't I?
Not doing much of anything.
Just passing time.
Treading water.
Positioning myself.
Lurking in the shadows.
Hiding in the weeds.
Doing whatever consenting adults used to do in the bulrushes during biblical times, huh.

self

Jackie's in his corset, Janie's in her vest, me, I'm in a rock and roll band ... ha

Velvet Underground reunion 1993

You're number thirty-seven, have a look

Nico, Lou Reed and John Cale

Sighhhhhhhhhhhh

Lucinda Williams

And I'm gettin' old ...

Gott in Himmel, it's the Beat Boys!!!

Is that Sandra's mother in the audience???
Ok, when the Beatles first came out I read somewhere that it was hard to say the Beatles in German, so they called them the Beat Boys.

The pump don't work 'cause the vandals took the handle

Tomorrow

I wasn't going to mention this, but yesterday, April 12th, was my sister's birthday. She would have been 62. Out of all the people that I have known that have passed away she is the one who sometimes tricks my mind into believing that she is still around, and maybe I should give her a call or something.

Bedroom at midnight in black and white

Go man go

Dribble, dribble, dribble, the brain matter seeps through my pores.
Something, something, something ending up with whores.
Trying to come off as a psychotic beat just doesn't work for me.
Scootley boot doot, later.

Yo, Vinny!

I rented Brown Bunny today, and yeah the bj looked real, but the movie was more than a bj, it was actually pretty good in a desperate, aimless, downward spiraling, life is hell, next step breakdown city, lonely sort of way.

Please excuse my babbling if you've heard it before

Ok, so if you look at the time stamp you'll see that it's very early in the morning and that will probably make you wonder what's that crazy old boz doing up, let alone making a grammatically puzzling post, now.
Well excuse me for breathing, or better yet, excuse me for not breathing, which is pretty much precisely what I am not doing, breathing that is.
Yeah, I woke up and my nose was completely stuffed, stuffed as in major loss of oxygen to the brain which could lead to brain damage stuffed, that stuffed.
So, instead of breathing through my mouth, which I normally do 95% of the time, I panic and try even harder to breathe through my nose, and if your nose has ever been really stuffed up, you'll know just how much that hurts. So instead of breathing through my mouth I continue trying to breathe through my nose while frantically running around the house looking for nasal spray, and as bad as my sinus are you'd think I'd keep a bottle of nasal spray in the drawer of my night stand at all times, if I had a night stand that is, and I think I'm going to make a run to the St Vinny's thrift store and see if they have a suitable night stand in which I would most definitely keep a bottle of nasal spray at all times as I flail away at trying to end this sentence, there.
Yeah, I did find the nasal spray, it was in the top drawer of the dresser located where the night stand I don't have would be located if I had one, so I guess I really don't have to make a thrift store run after all, I mean, all I really have to do is self hypnotise myself into believing that the dresser is actually a night stand, and then count to three and clap, and hopefully I won't start barking like a dog and sniffing everybody's crotch like I did the last time I was hypnotized, and then everything will be alright.
And it is alright now, except for the fact that I can't shake this belief that I have deep down in my gut that the lacrosse team from Duke is some how involved in the disappearance of Natalee Holloway and that Greta Van Sustern is the scariest looking woman in the world.
Other than that, everything is all hunky dory from where I am sitting, which would be right here, in front of my computer, pouring out my thoughts, and hopes, and dreams to you in my hour of need, and yet still wondering where it all went wrong for poor Lester Jenkins.
Amen

The Giant V shaped indentation in my forehead

MB says it has been there since I was a baby and it's not a result of the satantic cult that my parents embraced during the 50s, and that it is only a coincidence that my middle name is Vance, which is short for Vance, Spawn of the Devil.

Chrissakes, could you at least knock!

What's Up Tiger Lily
A movie review, sort of.
Have you ever seen the movie What's Up Tiger Lily?
It was originally a Japanese spy flick, ala James Bond, released in the mid 60's.
Well, Woody Allen, yeah that Woody Allen, the Woody Allen who married his adopted step daughter once removed by marriage, the Woody Allen whose flicks really haven't been relevant since about 1977, yeah, that's the Woody Allen I mean, and you know Woody is kind of an odd name for a guy who probably hasn't sported any since about, yeah, since about 1977.

I'm sorry, but the demise of Woody into a sleazy comic punchline is just too much for me to take.

Did I ever tell you that when I was sixteen years old I ripped the Woody Allen Playboy Interview out of my brother-in-law's Playboy magazine and hid it in my secret hiding place and whenever I felt sad, or lonely, or misunderstood, I would whip it out ... the article, not my ummm, member, and ....
My favorite Woody joke from the interview was when he was asked about the sexual revolution he said something about sporadic guerilla warfare, and I wish I could remember some other really funny things he said in the interview, but hey, I was hopped up on speed and bennies during most of the sixties, nah ...
I just don't remember anything else.

Anyway, that interview appeared in the May 1967 issue of Playboy and yeah, here is the centerfold for that month, featuring the hauntingly air brushed, and minimally puffified Anne Randall, and yeah, this would probably be the part where I talked about Anne Randall and my member, and fuck, I was only sixteen, and unlike Woody I was sporting it almost 24/7, but I wasn't very popular, and I was extremely shy, so how else was I supposed to, you know, right, you know, ummm, quell the urge.





Oh, yeah, What's Up Tiger Lily was a really funny movie dubbed into English by Woody Allen about the top secret recipe for the world's best egg salad being stolen, and other stuff too boring to go into.
Thank you.

I'm running out of ways to appear winsome

Do you see a trend developing here?

Photo Op

A day in the life of me

So, I was driving north on US 23 today between East Tawain and Oscola when a guy crossed the highway to check his mail.
Another mile up US 23 the same guy was crossing back over with a handful of mail.
MY LIFE IS TURNING INTO A BAD STEPHEN KING SHORT STORY!!!

In other news:
MB said she needed my help today.
My god, she's fallen, she's bleeding, she's broken her hip, she needs to be rushed to the hospital.
Nah, she just asked if I would mine making a pan of cornbread for her.
Hey, as long as I don't have to eat it ... why not?
So I did, and it came out golden brown and after it cooled it popped right out of the pan, and according to MB it was delicious, but of course she could be playing me like she did was the laundry, and the time she asked me to wash her ... nevermind.
Is it considered making it from scratch if you use cornmeal?
I am a cooking god!

Lucinda Williams, Cactus Jack, Raising Arizona, and Me

Well, sometimes I get the menstrual cramps real hard.

Weird Dream #1493

I had a dream last night.
I was a contestant on some kind of dating show.
The premise of the show was that a woman picked four finalists out of a group of about twenty guys.
In the three times I was on the show I had made the final four all three times, which totally amazed everyone, including me.
The other three guys were always these good looking smart and loaded with personality type guys, and I was always the Bozzie that you see in here.
Also I was never around when the female contestant made her final four choices. I was always in the restroom, or asleep, or out grabbing a smoke and when I came back into the studio, without my shoes, someone would come up to me all surprised and everything and tell me that I had made the final four.
And on the outside I was all nonchalant, and blase, and oh really la di dah, la di fucking dah about it, but on the inside I was all YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!
And I would always sit apart from the other three finalists and crack jokes with the non-finalists.
And I was like probably in my thirties, because I don't think I am ever old in my dreams.
And whenever I was introduced as one of the finalists the studio audience would always roll their eyes, and laugh, and then finally applaud.
I don't remember if I won the first two times, but that really didn't seem to be important, just making it to the final four was the big thing.
Then on the third show the female contestant came up to the other three finalists one at a time and sat on their laps and asked each of them a few questions, and then when she started walking towards me I woke up with a hard on.
The End

Random Play Randomness

Vashti Bunyan - Window Over the Bay (I don't have the slightest idea who she is, but she has a great name, and maybe someone will be impressed that I so casually bandy her name about and give me love, sweet gypsy love.)
Donovan - First There is a Mountain (You aren't fooling anyone Ken, you're nothing but a suede-o hippie.)
Neil Young - Prairie Wind (Prairie is a very difficult word to spell.)
Cream - World of Pain
Del Shannon - Keep Searchin'
The Mavericks - Here Comes the Rain (Here comes the NEXT button)
Beau Brummels - Cry Some
The Beatles - Glass Onion (The walrus was Paul ... I knew it!)
Neil Young - Birds
The Kinks - Waterloo Sunset
Louvin Brothers - The Christian Life (My buddies shun me since I've turned to Jesus, but I still love them, they burden my heart, I'll try to lead them to walk in the light because I like the Christian life.)
Beau Brummels - Ain't That Lovin' You Baby
Manfred Mann - Pretty Flamingo
Dvl - Santa Baby (Stick with me toots, and I'll make you a star.)
Doc Watson and Andy Griffith - Crawdad Hole
Julie Driscoll and the Brian Auger Trinity - Season of the Witch (Oh man, I had such a crush on Julie Driscoll. I think she was after Grace Slick and before Buffy Sainte Marie.)
Lonnie Donegan - I Wanna Go Home aka The Sloop John B (Dammit, why isn't Lonnie Donegan in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? You think I'm kidding, but I'm not.)
The Move - Fire Brigade
The Moody Blues - Timothy Leary's Dead (Hey, Ken, that song's about drugs, no shit Ken, really.)
Rilo Kiley - More Adventurous (Man, I love chick singers with a little twang in their voice and a harmonica wailing in the background.)
Richard Hell and the Voidoids - Love Comes in Spurts (Well, ch'yeah.)

G'night.

Video Bozzio

The Dance of the Baby Hippo.

I'm good, what about you?

Ok, I've been off zoloft for a little over a week now, and everything is going very well ... except for one little emotional episode which is really kind of embarrassing to write about, but what the hell.

On Friday the same L. Cohen album was in the car CD player from my drive home on Thursday, and the song The Old Revolution came on.
And yeah, it's one of my favorite songs from the album, so I always listen a little more intently when it comes on.
And I'm fine, and I'm singing along with L. Cohen in my best nasal L. Cohen voice.
And L. Cohen and I are singing:

I finally broke into the prison,
I found my place in the chain.
Even damnation is poisoned with rainbows,
all the brave young men
they're waiting now to see a signal
which some killer will be lighting for pay.

Into this furnace I ask you now to venture,
you whom I cannot betray.

I fought in the old revolution
on the side of the ghost and the King ...

And L. Cohen and I are both into it.
And then we get to the next line:

Of course I was very young
and I thought that we were winning;
I can't pretend, I still feel very much like singing
as they carry the bodies away.

And I ...
I can't sing because I'm starting to tear up.
I mean, yeah tearing up to the point where I think I'm going to have to pull over to the side of the road, because I'm about to start bawling my eyes out.
I didn't understand it.
I mean, yeah, but ...
I don't know.
Just that song, just those lyrics, just touching some chord.
Lost youth.
Lost innocence.
Lost marbles.
It's odd, isn't it?


Into this furnace I ask you now to venture,
you whom I cannot betray.

Lately you've started to stutter
as though you had nothing to say.
To all of my architects let me be traitor.
Now let me say I myself gave the order
to sleep and to search and to destroy.

Into this furnace I ask you now to venture,
you whom I cannot betray.

Yes, you who are broken by power,
you who are absent all day,
you who are kings for the sake of your children's story,
the hand of your beggar is burdened down with money,
the hand of your lover is clay.

Into this furnace I ask you now to venture,
you whom I cannot betray.

Personality Crisis

Boz's Johari Window

Use a fake name, so I won't know who you are.

The darker side
Boz's Nohari Window