And whom better to sing about this holiday than alt-rock’s greatest and most earnest outsider artist, Wesley Willis?
Categories
Month: December 2002
Earlier today (December 24, 2002)
I was in a store on Queen Street West that specialized in the kind of funky clothing that appealed to club-goers and the snowboard/skateboard set, looking for cheap presents for my cousins. The manager saw me and asked “You don’t still have crabs, do ya?”
It took me a moment to realize what she was talking about.
“No, I don’t,” I replied, “that was my friend.”
“Riiiiiight.”
I’m going to kill his ass, I thought.
Four years ago, a frantic phone call (December 1998)
The Nokia S110, my phone at the time.
Four years ago, I was at the same store, buying a sweater for my cousin. While standing in line waiting for my turn at the cashier, I got a phone call.
“Joey, I need your help!” said the voice on the other end. It was my friend — whom I’ll call “X” — and his voice was panicked.
“What happened?”
“OhMyGodIThinkIGotCrispyCrittersFromTheBathroom
AtThisReallyCoolGayBarInNewYorkWhenIWasVisiting
MyBoyfriendAndTheyReallyItchAnd…”
His voice was so loud that I had to hold the phone a couple of inches away from my ear.
“You got what?” I asked “Crispy Critters? Is that fried chicken? What the hell are you talking about?”
“CrispyCrittersJoey!” he repeated, still speaking a mile a minute. “IMean…” and then he slowed down to enunciate every word “I…HAVE…CRABS!”
He said it loudly enough for everyone around to hear, at which point they all took a step away from me. The cashier — who today is the manager — grimaced at me.
“Hey, I don’t have crabs, my friend does,” I said to her.
“Friend, huh?” she said incredulously.
X was still rattling a mile a minute on the phone.
“JoeyYouHaveToHelpMeItItchesLikeCrazy
AndICan’tAffordTheCreamCanYouLendMe
SomeMoneyItItchesItItchesItItches!”
He was phoning me from a pay phone near the Eaton Centre, not far from where I was. I arranged to meet him at the large fountain on the bottom floor, as it was near a Shoppers Drug Mart where we could buy the anti-crablouse goo.
I hung up and noticed that everyone — the people in line as well as the cashier — were giving me funny looks and keeping their distance. The cashier took my credit card the with the tips of her thumb and index finger, holding it as if I’d handed her a very full week-old diaper.
Damned X, I thought to myself. He gets the STD and I get the “unclean” treatment.
Rendezvous
The Eaton Centre fountain.
Minutes later, I was walking towards the Eaton Centre fountain. X ran towards me, ready to give me a hug when I stuck out my left arm, firmly placing my hand on his chest.
“Can we skip the hug while you’re still a travelling flea circus?”, I asked.
“Oh yeah,” he replied, a little sheepishly.
“I know that there’s some kind of cream for it, but I don’t know what it’s –”
“Slut-o-cillin.” (That’s not the real name of the cream; I just can’t remember what it was).
“You sound awfully familiar with the treatment.”
“Oh, I’ve had them before.”
“Of course.”
Ooh…Pants!
On the way to the drugstore, we passed by a store that had a sale on pants.
“Hey,” said X, “before we go to the drugstore, can I try these on?”
I threw him a look that said Have you completely lost your mind?
“Oh yeah.”
I hope you know that this will go down on your permanent credit record
The pharmacist was young and easygoing, but concerned about me. “He might not be the only one who needs slut-o-cillin. If you’ve had sex with him recently…”
“Oh, he’s tried,” I said, “but no, I’m just buying it for him.”
“That’s a little…unusual. I mean, I thought that because you were buying it for him that you were…ummm…together.”
“Oh no,” X said. “Joey’s such a breeder. You know he says he’s never had a cock in his mouth? Not even once?”
“Keep that up and there’ll be no cream for you, fleabag.” I muttered.
The pharmacist rang up the bill; the slut-o-cillin cost thirty dollars. I had a twenty in my wallet. “How would you like to pay, sir?” asked the pharmacist.
“Uh, is there a bank machine nearby?”
“All out of cash. I tried getting some on my break.”
“Let’s try Interac then.” I handed him my bank card and he swiped it in the debit machine. We failed to get a connection to the bank computer. With the Christmas rush, the lines were all tied up.
“Do you have a credit card, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, but I’m…uh…really trying to avoid putting this particular order on my credit record…aw, hell. Take it.”
I turned to X. “If this credit card purchase ever ends up haunting me, I’m going to fucking kill you.”
Merry Christmas, Itchy
Before we parted ways and I headed home, X turned to me and spoke. “I know I’m a pain in the ass a lot of times, but I wanted to say thanks. I don’t know too many people who’d do this for me.”
“You’re welcome. Just try not to get into this kind of trouble all the time, willya?”
I reached into my wallet, pulled out the twenty and gave it to him.
“Use this to wash all your clothes and your sheets too. In hot water. Maybe not in your usual laundromat, ’cause you’re not going to win any popularity contests.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you. This is the best Christmas present ever.” That little bit of gratitude made it all worthwhile. If he weren’t such an ant farm, I’d have given him a hug.
Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Joyous Kwanzaa, and Rockin’ Festivus, everybody. May your holidays be safe and infestation-free!
Categories
You should’ve stayed, Joe
Joe Strummer, best known for being the front man for The Clash, died on Sunday at his farmhouse in Somerset, southwestern England. He was still actively rocking with his current band, The Mescaleros, working on a tribute single for Nelson Mandela with Bono and Dave Stewart and preparing to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (along with The Police, Elvis Costello and the Attractions, The Righteous Brothers and good ol’ AC/DC).
My own discovery of The Clash took place in 1983 when my friend Kevin Matte and I sat down at his mother’s downtown condo and listened to Combat Rock album while poring over the liner notes (they were big — remember, albums were on vinyl LPs at the time). We had no idea that those in the know regarded it as their “sell-out” album — we were just blown away by the music. From the boom-chuck ranting in Know Your Rights (“This is a public service announcement…with guitar!” is eerily appropriate in the post 9/11 world) to the straight-out I-IV-V-ish Should I Stay of Should I Go to the jazzy Death is a Star, the album showed us the many interesting directions in which rock can go and led us to discover their previous albums (The Clash, Give ‘Em Enough Rope, London Calling, Sandinista). The Clash would go on to become a staple of my DJ sets at Clark Hall Pub at Queen’s University and later, when I picked up the accordion, Should I Stay or Should I Go would end up being one of my squeezebox anthems, netting me a lot of free intoxicants from Queen Street West to Prague sausage-and-beer bars to bars full of bikers in New York to Burning Man shantytowns.
Thank you for the music, Joe.
Should I Stay or Should I Go?
Key of D (major chords in the song are D, G and A)
Darling, you gotta let me know
Should I stay or should I go?
If you say that you are mine
I’ll be here ’til the end of time
So you got to let know
Should I stay or should I go?
Always tease tease tease
(Siempre – coqetiando y enganyando)
You’re happy when I’m on my knees
(Me arrodilla y estas feliz)
One day is fine, next is black
(Un dias bien el otro negro)
So if you want me off your back
(Al rededar en tu espalda)
Well come on and let me know
(Me tienes que desir)
Should I Stay or should I go?
(Me debo ir o que darme)
Should I stay or should I go now?
Should I stay or should I go now?
If I go there will be trouble
An’ if I stay it will be double
So come on and let me know
This indecision’s bugging me
(Esta undecision me molesta)
If you don’t want me, set me free
(Si no me quieres, librame)
Exactly who’m I’m supposed to be
(Diga me que tengo ser)
Don’t you know which clothes even fit me?
(Saves que robas me querda?)
Come on and let me know
(Me tienes que desir)
Should I cool it or should I blow?
(Me debo ir o quedarme?)
Should I stay or should I go now?
(Yo me frio o lo sophlo?)
If I go there will be trouble
(Si me voi – va ver peligro)
And if I stay it will be double
(Si me quedo es doble)
So you gotta let me know
(Me tienes que decir)
Should I stay or should I go?
(Yo me frio o lo sophlo?)
Occasionally, people have bad eBay experiences, but what happened to Ralph Omholt would never have happened before 9/11 and the USA PATRIOT Act:
A few months back, I successfully bid on an E-Bay item, advertised as a CD-ROM B-737 ground-school course. I was sure that Boeing had made such a CD-ROM, but there was no particular indication that such an object would contain sensitive or even proprietary information. The ad described the manual as “siimilar to that used by major airlines.”
So I made the purchase and, in good time, the instructional CD-ROM arrived at my house.
Then, as they say, the manure hit the air compressor.
Last week, I received a frantic e-mail message from the seller of the CDROM, who wrote with some urgency that he needed it back (with a full refund promised, of course). Curious, I picked up the phone and called the fellow, who works as a flight instructor. He revealed that the FBI had paid him a visit, warning that the content of the CD-ROM disc material – information on how to operate a Boeing 737 airliner – constituted “a national security threat.” The agents demanded that my new acquaintance recover and surrender to the FBI any and all such material that he had distributed. Obviously, copyright laws were also involved.
If that’s not crazy enough for you, here’s the kicker: shortly afterwards, Omholt got a call from the U.S. Attorney’s office asking if he’d received a subpoena to appear in front of a federal grand jury. He hadn’t yet, which is the only reason he was legally allowed to write about it at the time: the USA PATRIOT Act says that once you receive such a subpoena, if it is served in concert with a terrorist investigation, you aren’t allowed to tell anyone about receiving it. Never mind the fact that it effectively cancels one’s First Amendment rights — how the hell are you supposed to explain your absence to your employer or family?
After crap like this, I find it amusing that some Americans think of the Canadian system as “communist” or refer to this fine country as “Soviet Canuckistan”. From our vantage point up here, it looks as though you’ve beaten the Russkies at their own game [Flash required].
If Cory hasn’t pointed you there yet, let me: Real Live Preacher is a blog written by an anonymous Protestant pastor somewhere in Texas. He swears, he’s more than happy to use a loaded double-entendre (one of his entries is titled What’s in the Preacher’s Pants?, which last I checked was a game you tried to avoid playing in Catholic school) and is the complete antithesis of the pious caricature we’ve come to expect from religious figures.
(Padre, if you ever need a guest accordionist at one of your masses — and hey, I’m actually an organist by training — do drop me a line.)
Categories
Ammo for your 2002 roundup
It’s traditional to do “top ten”-style lists at the end of the calendar year. I notice that this year, as the blogosphere become increasingly politically polarized, the left and the right have already sighted each other in their crosshairs. The Warblogger Watch crowd will probably want to look at Pandagon.net’s Most Annoying Conservatives of 2002, while Little Green Footballs readers are more likely to prefer Right Wing News’ The Twenty Most Annoying Liberals of 2002.
All right folks, I want a nice, dirty fight. Let’s keep hitting below the belt, and keep the straw men, ad hominem attacks, inovocations of Godwin’s Law, calumny and slander comin’ till the bell rings. Anyone who mentions conflict resolution gets thrown out of the ring. Go!
I thought I had some inconvenience the last time I flew to the States, but what happened to Nick Monahan and his wife is completely inexcusable.