As I wait on my father to get a simple outpatient proceedure at UPMC Hamot in Erie on his ridiculously near sighted right eye (a trait I severly inherited), I requested someone make coffee. The pot was dry, and I did not have the right tools to jump in and do the job myself (the key to the cabinet).
Upon arrival of the keeper of the coffee key, I was asked if I wanted decaf? "Blasphemy" said I. The coffee god proceeded to explain why I shouldn't drink decaf anyway, because of the chemicals used in the decaffinating process.
A quick google search later, and the truth is revealed. There are several ways to skin a bean, and not all are considered a health risk. Chemicals are used however, make no mistake about that.
With the above in mind, I am not mad at chemical usage in decaffinization, nor am I concerned about health aspects associated with ingesting said chemicals. Nay, I am saddened someone actually came up with this process to begin with. You can't un-phuck anymore than you can un-invent. It's tragic. Not to mention the emotional turmoil endured by the coffee beans themselves.
I never considered it before today. Sceince removing caffeine from a coffee bean is equalivant to a Ginger taking the soul of a human being. Without caffeine, the bean loses purpose, and eventually becomes evil.
Poor little guys. These innocent gifts from the gods are sucked dry of their goodness in the most inhumane ways. Science opens their little pores up, drains them of their caffeine with chemicals, then puts the lifeless liquid back into the beans. They are dried and sold as decaf.
Such great lenghts. Who decided this was a worthy experiment? I believe a Jumper should be employed to go back and talk Science out of doing it in the first place. Explain that Skynet going live only leads to bad sequels and worse remakes (nerd alert).
Tonight I am sitting at the South Somerset Rest Area due to an accident blocking all lanes somewhere between here and Bedford on I-76 in Pennsylvania. I'm headed to NJ for a morning meeting I am probably not going to make. I was advised by many people smarter than I to not make this trip. Ho hum...
Anyway, why not make the best of my downtime? If I was home, I'd probably be writing (or continuing my closet binge watch of the Clone Wars series on Netflix... its getting really good. I'm starting season 6).
This looks like maybe some freak winter storm. There is a pile of snow on the ground. If I do make it to Jersey tonight, it will be with Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" in my head. We come through the land of the ice and snow.... ahhhh ahh.
I people watched for a minute. I seem to always see Amish at rest areas. They really should just drive themselves around. What exactly is the point of not driving for religious reasons, and just have people drive you around? Amish confuse and annoy me. They can be as righteous as they want, they are destined suffer the same fate as everyone else. If we global warm this biotch into a burning crusty toast, none of their akwardness will matter. Might as well get a minivan and cart the rest of the Yoders to Walmart. Just sayin...
Shite is getting real, Popeye's ran out of white meat. Im kinda pissed.
Anyway. Looks like I have an opportunty to drive again. Lets see how far I get.
Life is a Highway, try not to block it, all night long...
I was sitting on a plane, and for no reason at all, a George Thorogood riff
floats through my head. I am immediately transported back to Erie PA riding my
no-name BMX bike in the summer of '88 at age 13. That was the year I discovered
Lonesome George.
I liked what he was doing. It was beer drinking, Marlboro smoking blues, tailor made for
pubescent white boys and underachieving Auto Body Vo-Tech rats (both of which I
was). He glorified alcoholism and cheered for the underdog. Of course, I
matured (cue the debate) and realized it was an act. However, growing up in a
town with a bar on every corner, it was easy to laugh with a guy who was
sleeping with his landlady and ordering up toxic blends of mixology at last
call. None of it seemed like a stretch. 12 step meetings are full of people
like me who bought in, and hopefully have a sense of humor about it today.
George came off all macho. A tough guy with an overbite and a stutter.
Shootin' pool and jive talking. Bad to the bone. Yet, I seem to remember him wearing
spandex. I'm sure he wasn’t trying to being ironic, yet irony followed him.
His band was (and still is) "The Delaware Destroyers," 'cause, you
know, Delaware is a hotbed for boogie blues and all. I guess he was giving
props in the tradition of "Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels."
Coming out of Erie PA, his gimmick made perfect sense to me.
I admit I don't know the history of this click from Delaware. For the story,
see the Wiki. This blurb is my interpretation.
At the height of his popularity, there was a certain Macho undercurrent of
cock rock going on. Golden Earing had "Twilight Zone," Sammy Hagar
filled stadiums, and Night Ranger's pre-hair metal anthems filled the air
during localized party hangouts across North America, usually named after the
location (Beggar’s Canyon, the Docks, Stoners Alley, etc...). It was not
unusual for a Tommy Tutone or Greg Kihn to break through with a couple of hits.
Don't even get me started about Aldo Nova (again, because, of the horrible
crime of his being so underrated).
It was just slightly before MTV hit huge. When it did, the pop music
identity crisis took on a visual aspect. I find this period of music history to
be fascinating. George made a video for his smash hit, but any steady rotation
was blown away once MTV figured out it's target audience liked the visual of
Duran Duran. Many artists retired into day jobs, but George made enough of a
ruckus to just keep on doing what he do. He made music for a Sturgis crowd
before it was cool, and that kind of mojo has blue collar staying power.
George's big day in the sun was just a bit before my time, but its not much of a
stretch to picture quarterbacks with tuff hair shot gunning Pabst when the
opening riff starts chugging along. By the time I found it, it was ancient
history, which worked well for my tastes (outside of Thrash) back then.
The "Bad to the Bone" LP was a huge commercial success, and songs
from it still spin on Classic Rock Radio's dreaded repeatable Playlist. If the
Brits made the blues cool for a hip crowd, George brought it back to a street
level. "Bad to the Bone" was the dirty little brother of popular
Blues, which by '82 was pretty watered down by commercialisation and years of
selling out by the British Invasion.
Eric Clapton never spent much time talking about artists outside of his
fancy. I wish he would at some point. I would love to hear his take on EVH or
Yngwie (after an unbiased listen), but I have always wanted to know what he
thought of George. Is that weird? No answer is necessary, I know it's weird. I
also have a fish named "Emmpu" and I always poach an egg in my Ramen
noodles in an effort to "doctor them up". I like being a little
weird.
So on this Friday evening when I should be out on the town writing my own
cock rock story, I am home writing about an under celebrated band with a
weirdness all their own.
Thanks for randomly popping into my head today. I needed a break from the
noise (which was actually the Oklahoma University Gymnastics team
screaming and giggling during the entire flight home from Dallas to
Pittsburgh... I guess there are worse things).
Paul may finally have the key to the Lennon/McCartney publishing. It's been a long time coming. 56 years actually. John and Paul have always collected royalties as writers, but have not seen returns on publishing in many moons. Not since somewhere around 1969.
John and Paul were songwriters and performers, but knew nothing about publishing. So, Brian Epstein made a publishing deal with an unknown lucky guy named Dick James, and Northern Songs was born. Dick got a 50% cut, Epstein got 10%, and John and Paul each received 20%. It was a good deal for it's time, but no one could see what it was really going to become.
A few moves later, in 1965 Northern went public. John and Paul collected $, and still kept 15% each.
Things get hairy when Epstein died in '67. The whole thing went to shite by 1969, when John and Paul, amidst a large power struggle, a divorce from each other and a massive power grab by Northern Songs then majority shareholder, AVT, sold their shares for 1.5 Million GBP each.
Again, they still collected royalties, but without publishing, they had no say over how their music was used to create income. Selling out the Beatles became big business.
This went on for years until ATV went up for sale. Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney were friends, and Paul suggested that Michael get in the publishing game. Paul had no clue that MJ would actually bid on Paul's songs. He did, and won the bidding process. MJ set-up a company with Sony for distribution. They netted hundreds of millions.
The MJ estate sold the remaining rights to Sony after MJ bit it, and there is where they have stayed for the last couple of years.
Time is the great equalizer, however. In 1976 a law passed stating that after 56 years, the ownership should go back to the original author. Paul should start getting his songs back next year, and continue until the catalog is completely returned to him or his estate.
Nothing like waiting it out, aye Paul?
Seriously though, it's awesome that Macca may actually get to call his children home. Paul has mostly been a shining example of what a humble icon should be. I wonder if patience is an acquired taste, or if it only seems like patience because Paul stubbornly won't give up and shows no sign of slowing down?
Whatever it is, Paul can protect his (and his Mates) legacy from shite like this 1988 sellout:
My Blog, sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble.
It may be me, but it seems as though the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has been
spending a ton of time trying to at least give a nod to actual popular music
associated with the title "Rock and Roll." It's good they are doing
so, as enough people have called BS. It really was time for them to get some of
it right.
I am not saying the Hall is on perfections road. It's far from it, but a
band with the cred of Journey is (and always has been) a no brainer for
induction. Consider Journey has been eligible since 2000 (1st LP released in
1975). The hall has snubbed this band for almost 2 decades. I may not be
the biggest Journey fan, but a snub of that magnitude is a testament to rock
snobbery and elitism that still lingers on the board of directors. As hip as
the Fricke crowd wants to always appear, they have had to conform to actual
sales and popularity just to keep from becoming too dayum irrelevant. Hence the
reason why Journey and Yes are 2017 inductees.
I am of an ilk that believes in natural progression. I understand Punk
and New-Wave are more hip than Corporate Rock, but, as a fan, a musician, and
an intelligent human being, I also know exactly where the mass appeal of
Journey derives. They are just as important (maybe even more so) than some
underground NYC songwriter who may have influenced Bad Brains and Buster
Poindexter. I am also of the opinion that the hall should spend less time
honoring dance music, and a little more time on bands that developed from the
same influences as the Springsteen and Zeppelin. Why not induct Judas Priest,
Maiden, or Motley Crue? Any one of them can justify their merit on LP sales
alone.
I am biased, and I digress.
I have said it for years, Journey's "Greatest Hits" may be the
perfect Rock/Pop LP. What an American thing to think, I know. I can't help it,
I am, after all, American. Also, Neil Schon (Journey's virtuoso guitar
Demi-God) is maybe the most tasteful lead player of any generation. Every note
on his leads are stadium ready memorable. As I age, my opinions become less
relevant, but these two facts are so ingrained in my DNA. I will old
man fight you for questioning them. Word.
Today, Journey moves on and tours like there is no tomorrow. Their appeal
still is completely understandable. They are not hard to escape to, which
is the point. Not all music has to be art-school babble. Sometimes, people want
catchy. Elvis wasn't Wagner. Rock and Roll is simple. I give the Hall an
attaboy for getting something right (again).
Congrats Guys!!! It's about time.
Part 2: Most Epic Video Ever
Separate Ways
I fear I may actually dance like the guys from Journey in this video. I have a few other random points of satire:
These guys are from California, yes? They look like snow cows fresh from Western PA
Choreography was not yet a priority in video making at the time. I believe the director basically said "Ok dudes, get close together and dance, try to look tough."
Drummer guy was still hoping the "Doobie Brother look" was coming back in.
Steve Perry almost falls over at 1:56. Punching a wall in Mom Jeans sets me off kilter too.
The girl in the Bowie doo....
I kinda dress like the keyboard guy (he needs a hoodie under his sport coat)
This horrible video cant make Neil uncool. He shreds.
Sometimes I just cant help but let the sarcasm flow. I'd love to be anywhere close to as talented as any of these guys.
Sometimes a blog starts with a title,
and works backward from there. This one should be interesting. As a self-indulgence
101, I am going to attempt a 6 degree separation (in 3 parts) of a popular
Cereal commercial to a Rapper/Icon to the greatest band of all time.
Now, reread the title... this may be
the most ridiculous thing I've done this year:
Part 1: Life
When I was a kid, the popular thing to say to bust my balls was related to a
"Life" cereal commercial, and a child's (Mikey) reaction to the
taste of Life cereal. Life gained a lot of business off of the catch phrase
"He likes it, hey Mikey!"
Anyone born in the 60's, 70's or even 80's with the name Michael knows my dilemma.
The commercial was in steady rotation for 12 years, first airing in 1972.
According to the Wiki, it is one of the longest continuous running commercials
of all time.
Hence: it could be said that the ball busting phrase maybe one of the
longest running as well. Thanks Mikey.
Along with the commercial came the rumor mill. I distinctly remember the
rumor that Mikey had eaten pop rocks, washed it down with a Coke, and died due
to a stomach explosion. A popular urban legend in its day. Of course it wasn't
true. Mikey (John Gilchrist) is very much alive and well, and is the Director
of Advertisement at MSG Network in New York. A bit of an ironic twist?
Part 2: Mama Said
MSG Network released "Boxing’s Greatest" to its series "The
Lineup" in February of 2016. The series played to the strengths of boxing
with a celebrity panel actually related to the sport.
The debate included greatest fight and greatest puncher amongst other
topics. One of the more interesting questions: who wins: Mike Tyson v Joe Frasier?
In their primes? I say Mike, but I am generationally biased. Mike Tyson was the
baddest man alive when I was a teenager.
Mike lost his belt in 1990. No one believed it could happen. Buster Douglas
was a huge underdog and it should have been easy win for Mike. That same year,
maybe one of the greatest boxing songs ever recorded was released.
LL Cool J came out swinging with his 2x Platinum selling LP "Mama Said
Knock You Out," and it hit hard. Everyone had it, knew it and loved it in
that day. To this day, my sister Kerry and I can't talk about anything
breakfast related without throwing in a "Milky Cereal Baby" reference
(a less popular, but banging track from LL's best LP).
Part 3: The love you take is equal.
LL Cool J transcended his rapper roots to become an actor, businessman and
cultural icon. He has even hosted the Grammys a time or two.
During one of his hosting stints in 2014, the 56th annual Grammy awards, the
academy presented The Beatles with a Lifetime Achievement Award. An award that
goes without saying, and was a "duh" moment for the entirety of the
population at large. It somehow tied into the Beatles 50th anniversary.
Paul and Ringo reunited for the event, an act the world won't see too many
more times (if any), and we sang along to familiar memories for a few blissful
minutes. For me it is always bitter sweet, as John was silenced in 1980.
When I think about John Lennon, the song first up in my mind is "In My
Life." The song has special meaning for me and I relate to it on a
spiritual level. It's a personal favorite. I once wept seeing the hand written
lyrics to the song hanging in the Hall of Fame. I know.... I'm a sentimental
softie, I am fine with it. I'm too old to change now.
So, in conclusion: In my life, cereal baby (milky).
I almost feel bad bringing up a Christmas reference on January 9th, but if it wasn't for Ralphie and his Orphan Annie decoder ring, I probably wouldn't remember the name of the malted milk powder my grandmother thought all kids should love.
Drink More Ovaltine? That's right, Ralphie got screwed by the man when he thought he was doing something special. A classic moment in a classic movie. Unfortunately for those of us who have actually had the misfortune of consuming the wretched brew, it's a taste you never quite forget. I reiterate: "malted milk powder."
Uh huh, dissolve a Whooper candy (the stuff that you avoid on Halloween) into a glass of milk and you're on the path to enlightenment.
At this stage you may be wondering why I bring it up? I'll come back to that.
Today, at a gas station close to Lake Norman NC, I filled up the Terrain with petrol, and headed inside to fill up the Yeti with Columbian Blend. I had two dollars in my wallet, and assumed one would suffice for a coffee refill.
I was sad when the lady behind the counter, who I watched wipe her runny nose on her hand immediately after coughing into her arm, told me it was $1.24. I was prepared to "Leave a Penny" by just handing her a dollar and allowing the 4 cent difference float, but $0.76? Thats a whole other ball game.
I did not hand her the two dollar bills, I laid them on the counter and took a step back from the seemingly unconcerned coffee peddler. My mind was racing: "why in the actual phuck didnt you stay home, lady." For some reason, in my mind, if you are a woman who has offended me, I'm default calling you "lady." I digress.
She reaches her snot hand into the drawer, pulls out some quarters and a penny, and lays it in my hand. I froze. "Shite, why did I take the change?" It was too late to turn back. I couldn't give it back. WHAT DO I DO??????
To the innocent who believed they found gold (to the tune of three quarters) in the courtesy penny bin at the Sunoco in Cornelius, NC, I sincerely apologize for your head cold. The act of throwing all of the change into the bin seems rash in hindsight. I mean, it was already in my hand, I should have just kept it, but I was not thinking rationally. My bad.
To the lady who came to work with an obvious nasty cold, I hope you are forced to drink malted milk product in the lesser known 5th round of Dante's treacherous ninth ring of hades, Ovaltineum.
Of course this story is in jest, I'd never wish Ovaltine on anyone. Being sick is not her fault, nor are the shite benefits not allowing her to stay home. Lighten up.
