This past Saturday afternoon, I was taking a quick nap when “In My Dreams” by the popular ‘80’s metal band Dokken came on my iTunes (I had it on shuffle mode because I am a guy who likes both variety and surprises and also a bit of Dokken every now and then). Since I hadn’t heard Dokken in a long time, I decided to push the issue and listen to Dokken and only Dokken during the rest of my nap. It was pretty exciting on several levels.
For the uninitiated, Dokken is a band from Los Angeles specializing in hair metal or pop metal or rock or just plain metal depending on whom you ask. They used to be on MTV all the time back in the ‘80’s when such music was king. While many of Dokken’s peers played major key songs about banging chicks and stuff, Dokken tended to favor minor key songs about breaking up with chicks they used to bang. It was good music to listen to in your car while your girlfriend (or at least the girl you hoped might one day be your girlfriend) ran into the convenient store for smokes or something and ended up talking to that dude over by the magazines for just a little too long. What the fuck?
My friend Tim and I were seriously into Dokken’s guitar player George Lynch, who is pretty awesome. Even Billy Corgan from the Smashing Pumpkins has talked about how he used to listen to George Lynch’s cool guitar playing and be all like wanting to play like that and stuff. George can play really fast and make cool squealy sounds when he does it. In short, he is pretty awesome, which I was saying earlier. Tim and I actually liked George Lynch more than Dokken as a whole. George was so good that we didn’t mind listening to rest of the band playing and singing along with George and his awesome guitar playing. It was worth it in the end. Besides, the chances of George leaving Dokken and joining the Replacements- thus combining most of our favorite things into one unstoppable band- seemed kind of unlikely any way you sliced it. Then again, that might not be the best idea the more I think about it anyway.
Now when I hear Dokken I remember back to being a youngster and first learning guitar and wanting to be able play all fast and shit. I’m older now and I still can’t play nearly as well as George Lynch, but I do have my moments of being fairly shred-capaple from time to time. My hair is not as cool as George Lynch’s used to be back in the day either, though it’s not too bad I suppose. Regardless, hearing Dokken reminds me of what it is to dream. Here is one their hits:
As a man who has met and enjoyed quality time with Judith Light (she was a guest on my Dave Hill Explosion show in Aspen, Colorado, where she sometimes lives, address unknown), star of the hit television program “Who’s the Boss?” and incredible woman in general, I am very excited about the photo above. If you are a detective you might have put this one together yourself, but the photo above is of me totally standing in front of a “Who’s the Boss?” baseball jacket. It is an extremely rare jacket given only to those fortunate enough to have been directly affiliated with the program during it’s primetime run from 1984 to 1992 on the ABC network. Sometimes you spend your whole life looking for something and then one day you walk into someone’s house and there it is, right there on a hanger. I do not want to die any time soon really, but as of this writing I feel closer to being ready. I have lived, dammit. I have lived.
Here is an animated GIF made by my friend Patrick Borelli. I like how the dog keeps whipping it’s head around. I am also concerned about what Patrick’s hand is doing when it leaves the frame. I am suggesting that maybe he is touching his privates. This is because I am juvenile and not one to shy away from the most obvious joke one could possibly make in any given scenario. But it is early and I haven’t had my coffee yet. There’s no telling what I might come up with a couple sips from now. Man, this party lifestyle is really getting to me. Anyway, I hope you have enjoyed this funtime moment exploring the exciting world of animated GIFs, which are from the future.
A few months ago, I wrote about being brutally attacked by a swarm of moths within the confines of my own apartment. Upon further investigation, I discovered the angry moths in question were, in fact, clothing moths or Tineola bisselliellae as they are known in entomological circles and possibly also ancient Rome (still checking on this). Anyway, as hinted at in the name, clothing moths totally eat all your cloths in their spare time, specifically clothes that are at least partially made of wool. It’s seriously annoying. I was able to get the clothes-eating in check through the use of moth balls (made me dizzy), which made my apartment smell like the home of an old couple whose children had moved out long ago but still visit on occasion, usually on holidays, and now with children of their own.
Despite getting the moths to stop eating my clothes (as far as I can tell), they were still always totally flying around my apartment or just kind of hanging out in a manner that seemed to suggest “We’re here! We’re moths! Get used to it!” The thing was, I was totally not getting used to it. Like, not at all. I would see around five to ten moths in my apartment on most days, which is a lot of moths for one apartment any way you slice it. I suppose a more reasonable person would have addressed the problem more aggressively, but I’m a busy guy and- aside from shaking my fists at the moths whenever I saw them- I figured there wasn’t much else I could do at this point besides kill them, which I also did whenever possible despite my Buddhist approach to small portions of my life.
Still with me? Okay, so anyway, a week or two ago the exterminator swung by my pad on his semi-monthly rounds in my apartment building. I told him about the moths and he put out some little glue traps that he explained were filled with glue and moth pheromones (moth vagina sauce- gross but sexy, I know). He also told me I should totally wash all the fabrics in my apartment, which sounded INSANE to me.
Anyway, so last weekend I went home to see my parents in Cleveland and was totally telling them about the moth attack in my apartment. My dad had little to no reaction to news of the attack. My mother, however, suggested I leave a bowl of vinegar out in the apartment thinking that maybe the moths would totally hate that. It sounded a little nutty at first, but as a man who has been under attack by moths for several months now, I was willing to try anything (except for washing all the fabrics in my apartment, that is).
When I got back to my apartment in scenic New York City a few days ago, I decided to give it a shot. And now- as of this writing- I am surprised and happy to report that I have totally not seen any months anywhere in the place where I totally live. It’s pretty crazy. The only problem now is that my apartment smells like vinegar. I am not really sure what to do about that. But I am pretty happy about taking back the night on those F-in’ moths. Thanks, mom.
Hi there. You should totally come to this show I am going to be a part of next Friday. A band is going to play all of Weezer’s “Blue Album” note-for-note, I will be there doing stuff, and there will also be other incredible stuff going on too. So yeah, you should totally come. Talk about good times. This is an example of that. All the information is on the flyer above.
To be honest, I could probably destroy this kid on guitar any day of the week. Until next week, that is, when he will probably be twice as good as he is in this video. This little bastard has got a lot of nerve.
Hi. Here is a photo of me with Ira Glass, Moby, and motherfucking Phil Costello after my most recent Dave Hill Explosion show taken by excellent photographer Beowulf Sheehan. Nice writeups of the show can be seen here and here.
Here is something I stumbled upon today in my neighborhood deli. Apparently it’s some sort of dissolving tab (not unlike those Listerine breath strip things) that you put in your mouth and then you get all energized. The name NRage though- I’m not so sure about that one. It just sounds kind of rapey. If someone took one of these things right before raping someone or maybe at least knocking over a big stack of canned goods at a grocery store or something it would be hard not to be all like “Well, I totally saw that one coming. He just took some NRage. What did you think was gonna happen?” That sort of thing. Am I right or am I right? Or am I right? I wonder if there is a disclaimer on the package. “WARNING: There is a seriously good chance you might rape someone if you take this product. But why take our word for it?”
Today I write to you from the tarmac of the Cleveland Hopkins International Airport, where I am totally sitting in a small plane that is delayed for takeoff to New York because of some combination crazy plane traffic and fierce Nordic winds or something. No one really knows for sure, at least not me anyway and last I checked I’m the only one talking to me and even then it’s touch and go. I just finished drinking a milkshake from Ben & Jerry’s. I got “Coffee! Coffee! Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!” (or whatever embarrassing-to-ask-for-by-name they call it) flavor but declined the whipped cream as I am on a restricted diet. Ha. That is a joke. I am also wearing a royal blue (and probably a little small when it really gets down to it) T-shirt I bought yesterday that says “Cleveland: You’ve Got To Be Tough.” It should say “Cleveland: You’ve Got To Be Tough- Especially If You Are Staying With My Parents.” That is another funny joke I just made up. Guess who is on fire today. This guy is on fire today. I am pointing to myself right now.
Anyway, I have spent the past few days visiting my family in Cleveland with special attention given to the Easter holiday. It was a short visit so I mostly just hung out with my family, ate ham, tried and failed to con my 6 year-old nephew out of Easter candy, ate some more ham, ate some ice cream, thought about and decided against eating some more ham, ate some sausage and stained my pants, and saw a couple old friends while I was at it. I also went to Easter Sunday mass at the church I went to for most of my life, which is where I ran into the girl I had a gigantic crush on for most of grade (or elementary as some call it) school. I hadn’t seen her in twenty years, but she was still looking just as beautiful as I remembered. And now of legal age! It’s nice to know that after all this time…I still don’t stand a chance. But at least now I’ve got my license. Who says I’ve got nothing to offer? (I am just now realizing I should have offered to drive her somewhere, anywhere in my rented Kia. It had a CD player and everything, though I totally would have let her control the radio if she wanted to.)
While I was home I was mildly saddened to find out that Jacobs Field, the stadium where the Cleveland Indians play, had been renamed Progressive Field (or something like that) after the popular auto insurance purveyor. I don’t understand why all sports arenas are named after large corporations now. I guess it’s supposed to advertise their company or something but in the end I just end up hating the company that put their name on the sports arena like that. For example, the existence of a place called the Staples Center only makes me not want to shop at Staples. I mean, I don’t want to shop at Staples anyway, but now I really don’t want to shop at Staples. Ditto about the Target Center, Quicken Loans Arena (maybe the lamest of all, like, seriously), and all those other places. Maybe it has the opposite effect on other people though. I guess I will just have to check Wikipedia. My friend Pat once suggested buying the rights to rename Jacobs Field for millions of dollars and then calling it Poopy Park. I would love to live in a world where a professional sports team plays its games at a place called Poopy Park. I don’t think that would ever stop being funny. If I ever become a rich, rich man, I will use my money to make such dreams come true.
Okay, we are still totally sitting here and not flying. People are getting restless, talking and texting on their phones, and craning their necks for a glimpse of a small bag of peanuts or something. I imagine it is only a matter of minutes before things get seriously “Lord of the Flies” in here. If only my grade school crush could see me now. I am totally going to hold the conch.