BUSINESS LAW BOUTIQUE

Fellini's best lawyer film,
Dustin Hoffman lighting a j-bone

to his client, he says:

"Shit, man
I don't know what's going to happen to you
but

(exhales)

it's fucking payday
and I am in
such a great
fucking mood."

The client brightens,
shrinks,
and in that case,
wants to get blazed too.

"No,"
says Hoffman.
"That's hardly a good idea
for someone in your spot.
Who do you think you are --

Willie Nelson?"
The client thinks.

"Tell you what,
I'll let you drive
my new wheels
around the block
a couple times.

But don't you ever hang
up on me like you like
you did the other day.

Do you hear
me, mister?"

A LETTER HOME FROM ASSHOLE PARADISE

"Dear Danny,

ran into your cuckold wife. I had no idea she likes older men -- what a gas. She sounds like a lot of fun. That's good. They're probably so pleased to lose their cocks inside that grapefruit-colored pussy. You got a weeping willow growing around your heart. A fern around that beet red/beef red sausage sauce-spitting dick muscle.

"It's asshole paradise inside your Lamborghini. He's the son of the worst sailor -- an impotent sailor! He only got married because his mother liked pussy-men that could dance. This is beautiful, pal. This storm.

"Couldn't stop thinking about New Year's Eve. Her legs were beautiful -- so beautiful that all the old gay guys practically went straight, kept buying her drinks and pointing at her legs."

THE GLUE OF LOVE, THE POLITICS OF MORONS

To Kill a Petty Bourgeoisie made their Ann Arbor debut last week and it was murder. They showed around 3pm, we hung out for a hot minute, ate dinner and split to the venue. Windy did a really intense piece about 20 minutes in length, Halolos played a tight little set, and TKAPB was a dark, bassed-out monster (but, you know, with a pretty voice cutting through it all). The new jams were insane, especially the last song during which the majority of the small crowd literally howled over top to great effect. Maybe it's that I get so amped up at rock shows because I attend them pretty infrequently these days, but it was really exciting to watch them. There was danger, catharsis. It only now occurs to me that I watched the entire show from behind the PA. Hm. Anyway, the whole shebang was over with by 1am but we stayed up until 4 or 5am drinking Sparks (just kidding).

Wow. Listening to the Rolling Stones now. Some album called Now! and these cats can really cook. Like, the tube amp is all heated up and they're cooking eggs on top of that fucker. Someone go to the store and grab some Canadian bacon. Bust out a $20 cuz I wanna' make an anti-capitalist statement.

LISTENING The Rolling Stones - Now!

PARTY WITH ME PUNKER... IN A CONDO!!! or CONTEMPT IN L.A.

First off, can we whip off an official cease-and-desist letter to The Apples In Stereo? They're like Dr. Frankenstein's anti-Flipper (figure that one out). If they continue to write complete bullshit like "Can You Feel It?" -- and appear on television playing the song where I can accidentally see them(!!) -- then they shouldn't be making music. In one review, the song in question is described as "a sugary sweet blast of power-pop goodness." Hello -- where's that fucking barf bucket at!? ANYWAY...

We were shaking shaking shaking tail feathers, baby, when I brought my left brow down onto the edge of Erin's vodka tonic glass. It was just after midnight and the Ann Arbor Soul Club's two-year-anniversary party was sold out. Up until that point, I had been stationed at the merch table and was anxious to dance. Within minutes of stepping onto the dancefloor, I was holding my eye and cussing. There's no bruise but three days have gone by and it still effin' hurts so bad. Nonetheless, Soul Club was unreal. A little over 230 people were at last year's anniversary and 2008 saw that number double. Crazy. Great great jams all night too -- Mr. Fine Wine came back and killed it and Robert & Brad played something like the-greatest-hits-I barely-know. Erin and Aaron worked a catering gig beforehand and both showed up looking great (although Erin was far, far more attractive).

Before heading to Soul Club, Mike and I slugged whiskey for an hour and talked about life. A letter on Minus Times stationary arrived in the mail that day and news was good. When I came home and saw the letter sitting in the mail, I was so genuinely excited about the contents that I yelled at Chacho (well, to Chacho -- Erin wasn't home). Fuck, man. It makes me want to listen to Amon Düül II.

I am listening to Amon Düül II.

LISTENING Amon Düül II - Phallus Dei

SPORTS OF THE DEEP SOUTH

"Kill the butler! He has really weird ideas about family & children, doctors & hygiene, among many other topics unsuitable for the missus," said the house negro. "As a result, myself and the guests of the house are all becoming uncomfortable!"

Madame raised her hand to silence the servant. She then removed her shoes and balanced on the balls of her feet, tipping just slightly toward the three female gymnasts standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a stationary pose near the middle of the dining hall. Trio, as they were referred to, wore matching white jogging shorts, differentiated only by the color of the piping. The middle gymnast wore shorts with blue piping, the left gymnast wore green piping, and the right wore black. Trio stared into Madame's eyes for a moment, then each into the eyes of the other, from right to middle, middle to left.

Trio took each other hand-in-hand as an ornate throne of silver rose up several feet from an opening in the floor. Perched high atop a slender column, the throne lay in recline. The back of the chair was abnormal in its extended height and the seat was of normal length. From the seat, a short footrest was held out by seven metal bars.

The middle gymnast walked to the foot of the throne. From the opening, two tentacles exited and lifted her into the seat where she lay back. The two other gymnasts advanced toward the throne, stopping just before the middle gymnast's sneakers touched their sternum. They hiked their shorts slightly, revealing the edge of their asses, and the sweat glistened on their thighs.

With a quick jerk, they removed her sneakers and slowly rolled the socks from her feet. Now bare, her toes wriggled wildly as an intense wind picked up from the south of the hall. The crowd at the north wall felt the brunt of the wind's chill, toupées blown off and replaced with icy crystals.

Still balancing on the balls of her feet, Madame turned toward the throne and howled into the gale as the tentacles slinked back into the opening. In perfect unison, the two gymnasts commenced sucking the first toe of each of the gymnast's feet. She moaned and pushed both hands into her jogging shorts. The two moved to her next two toes, the gymnast pressing harder onto her clitoris while their tongues massaged the soft flesh between the toes.

Starting almost imperceptibly beneath Madame's wail, a fire engine siren rose from a soft whir to a horrible alarm as light began to pouring through cracks in the north wall made by an ax.

BRUNCH SANCTITY

My stomach's doing flips but that's what you pay for eating peppers for breakfast! A couple years ago, the ex of a friend stopped by his apartment to pick up her mail and found the leftovers of his dinner sitting on the table: half-finished 40oz., a bowl of peppers. Ramen burritos, Cup-o-noodles, gin & Sun Chips. Someone oughtta' pen the Bachelor Cookbook. Hm. I'm sure it's been done. Esquire might've even covered it (btw, it looks like 2009 will be there year I subscribe).

How did I forget to mention that the Mr. Wiltoncroft book is done?!? It was supposed to come out just over a year ago but there were numerous delays with artwork, the introduction, blah blah blah. At any rate, it's finished and looks beautiful. Hopefully, and perhaps once the new issue of Minus Times is out, there'll be a little celebration. Beyond printing the "pocket reader", Mike was instrumental in the process of creating the final product and I almost couldn't be happier with it. Hunter Kennedy did the fantastic introduction and John Zeichman painted the cover. Soon the public will know the brilliance of Brent Van Daley!

Now, where are those Tums at?

LISTENING Stars of The Lid - The Tired Sounds Of...

DIVORCING DADDIES

Driving back from Port Huron with a chopping block in tow, I explained to Mike that a certain terrible band (that shall go unnamed) ruined any discussion of "popping cherries" for at least a couple generations. The realization was not dissimilar to hearing of a close friend's death*. He pulled over so I could pour a Gatorade on the curb.

Maybe it's the weather but, for some reason, I'm reminded of Jesse. After work one night, he & I walked down State St. to his co-op and purchased 50-cent beers from an ancient Coke machine. I listened to him play a Coldplay song on piano for a girl who wouldn't leave the room until someone played something she knew. Instead of leaving, she stayed and sang along and I took off. I howled into the icy gale: "Is a little jazz too much to ask for?!"

* Add "in fourth grade" to the end of that sentence where necessary.

RUGBY BILLIONAIRES

Barry fastened his rubber mask and winked at The Doctor. It seemed as if his hair was perming itself; each wet curl tightened and dripped a single droplet onto his sash.

"Where's my hat? Where's my effin' top hat?!" From a porthole in the wall, a tentacle appeared and handed him his cain, another his rifle. "Now where's that hat?"

His bride, a casualty of early beauty and her parents' economic advantage, stepped from the affluent hills of Michigan and into the basement. The gold lame` of her dress sparkled under the chandelier, nearly blinding The Doctor.

"Here is your hat, sire."

"You really boggle the brain, Trixie." Barry turned to Robbie and gave him the thumbs up. Robbie stopped stirring the jerk sauce and shut off the hotplate.

"Hey, mon! Are you tinking what I'm tinking?" Robbie shook his bag of arrowheads three times over the pot. "Presto, mon!!"

RAW P-POWER

Despite being on a Tuesday (yow -- a week from today!), I'm beginning to get good vibes about the upcoming To Kill a Petty Bourgeoisie show. Windy jumped on board which is great great great. The flyer below is unfinished although only slightly; Mike is going to put the finishing touches on it and print it on an off-white cardstock.



Mi Ami is for sure coming in February and I've tapped Brad Hales to DJ the show. Can't wait!

LISTENING Rhys Chatham - An Angel Moves Too Fast To See

HOLY EFFIN' SHIT

Last night was a completely strange bust(?) of a gig. The "(?)" is there only because I guess it was a success on some terms. It just wasn't my success. I reserved the night at Elks Lodge for Dark Matter but decided to cancel for a number of reasons: 1.) The Bang was celebrating their 7-year-anniversary the same night, 2.) Arborvitae was hosting Crunksgiving the same night, 3.) a neighbor was hosting a get together too, and 4.) Aaron, Robert and I DJed our friend Jasmine's birthday party at Elks the night before. So, bad night for DM but I didn't actually cancel the night. At Jasmine's party, the Elks members were really pumped about making DM a "mixer" and invited a serious number of their pals.

Having done no promotion, I rushed to put something together and snagged Nate (DJ Ornate) to DJ since he always seems to be down for playing records and has a good rapport with the Elks. It was a tough crowd. Thank goodness Nate killed it because I was striking out hard. Holy smokes. Perhaps you heard that classic Bill Cosby quote: "I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is to try to please everyone." Before Nate arrived, it was two hours of doing my set and trying to remember that quote, hoping at least part of the crowd would eventually be wooed by, fuck, I dunno, my El Chicano 45 (glad I chose not to play the "Eleanor Rigby" side!). In the end, I think I pleased the jazz contingent (1-5 people).

The night got me thinking about that whole "privileged DJ" thing I wrote about here. I've needed something to knock me on my ass, to push me a little further and deeper, or at least get me thinking about what I'm doing.

Anyway, Erin and I did make it to Crunksgiving for a spell. Arborvitae has the familial vibe down pat. Erin was pretty blown away by her first Crunksgiving so she went back for a couple hours after dropping me off at Elks Lodge. She came back just after midnight and we had a great time dancing with everyone while Nate slayed. She was absolutely beautiful dancing around. I felt terrible that she was going to get less than two hours of sleep before work today.