I'd Buy Anything By...Love and Rockets

I have a confession to make: I discovered Love and Rockets -- and by extension, Bauhaus -- because of "So Alive." I'm a late-comer keener who fell in love with their one big hit. Sue me!

It didn't take me long to explore backwards and enjoy all their previous albums...and to discover, like Concrete Blonde, that their hit single didn't sound like anything else they'd ever done. Love and Rockets were psychedelic, strange, and beautiful. Their vocal harmonies sounded natural in a way that most manufactured pop doesn't, and they wrote songs about unconventional subjects that appealed to THIS jaded teen.

Plus Daniel Ash was a brilliant guitarist and he looked good, though in retrospect...err, not so much.

The first song I REALLY fell in love with, though, was "No New Tale To Tell." Let alone being their best song ever (in my opinion) I also think it's a notable pop song -- so many explosive moments of solid melody -- and when people don't understand this I can only shake my head.



In case you're wondering about the blobby-headed creatures in the video, those are "The Bubblemen." You see, all three members of Love and Rockets were sort of oddball nerds that invented several mythologies that traveled through their albums, and those Bubblemen were a part of it...they even released an EP under the name (and it's not half bad either).

Eventually the band seemed to have thoroughly distanced itself from its Bauhaus roots, and the two songwriters -- David J. and Daniel Ash -- began moving in different directions. Their albums became increasingly fractured as a result, with J. and Ash's compositions standing in stark comparison with each other. That's not to say the later albums weren't GOOD, just that they were more like two EPs mashed together. At the same time their solo releases lacked lustre as well, though Ash was collaborating with beautiful genius Natacha Atlas (who he was married to at the time).

They also started experimenting more with trip hop and electronica, which tended to sound more "curious" than "good." I do like their later albums but they certainly aren't as good as the first wonderful bunch.

Initially I thought I didn't need to "talk up" the band because I assumed they were still well-known. Now, after hunting fruitlessly for current videos or quality live clips, I've begun to wonder whether Love and Rockets have fallen into total obscurity, wrongly labeled "one hit wonders" because they made an unlikely song that didn't even sound like them. That would be a bit sad.

Albums to buy: "Seventh Dream of Teenage Heaven," their debut, probably has the most likeable and consistent sound, though their self-titled "Love and Rockets" album sounds better today than it ever did (and has been released with their long-unheard EP of "swing" numbers). Albums to avoid: "Lift," their last one, is mostly blah. For fans only: pick up "Sorted!", the DVD of their collected videos...all the band members had considerable graphic design skill and their videos were ALWAYS fun.

Teasing Dreams

I sometimes think that the only reason we dream is to trick us into getting out of bed.

When I wake up and am still in confused semi-awareness, I remember my dreams as reality and I think that the world's a really interesting place.

"Gotta get up! They're making a movie in Antarctica with a commissary that serves deep-fried cheese fingers, and every town has a house where the gay kids think up fabulous disguises, and a rotten banana is chasing the boyscout. What an incredible world we live in!"

Then I turn on the light and realize that I WON'T be going to Antarctica today...instead I'll just be going to breakfast, which is nice but not NEARLY so exciting.

Maybe if we didn't dream we'd never turn on the light?

Cuddly Goths and Cute Little Vandals

I've just finished watching the awkwardly titled "Terry Jones' Barbarians," a series that challenges the traditional (Roman & Catholic) conception of barbarians as vicious, uncivilized brutes.

During four episodes, Jones introduces us to seven different groups that were labeled "barbarians" by Rome: the Celts, Goths, Dacians, Greeks, Parthians, Huns, and Vandals. In each episode he explodes the myths that most of us have been taught in school, showing that all of these groups were much more civilized and inventive than Roman scholars would have had us believe. This isn't a surprise when it comes to the Greeks, but it certainly is when you're reading about -- say -- Atilla the Hun.

This could be a lot of fun to watch but it comes across as a wildly skewed presentation, partly due to Jones' obnoxious snarkiness, partly due to the manipulative music and editing, but mostly because the facts presented are a selective laundry list of "good barbarian traits" versus "bad Roman traits." Never once does he say a nice thing about Rome, and whenever he mentions a repulsive action by the barbarian tribes he does so as a "goofy aside." Because torture and mutilation is sort of funny when the Huns do it, I guess.

I suppose you're meant to recognize the snarkiness as a joke and the selective details as balancing out a terribly one-sided history, but coupled with the otherwise serious tone, the traumatic "WHOOMP-WHOOMP" editing, and the camera that zips around like a terrified housefly it begins to sound like propaganda...which is pretty silly considering the issue is hardly a burning one at the moment.

I learned some interesting things. I am skeptical about some of the details. I was annoyed by the overall style.

Psycho-Gifts for Christmas!

While the Victorians loved their Freud, the '20s were all about behaviourism and personality tests...everybody was taking quizzes and using behaviour modification to keep their children in line. Skinner hadn't arrived on the scene yet but Watson was very, very popular.

This is the first time I've seen the fad so obviously presented in The New Yorker. It's a Christmas advertisement for Wanamaker's Department Store in the December 8, 1928 issue.

The advertisement claims that Wanamaker's has analyzed the neurotic complexes of "the world and his wife" (!), and that you should purchase Christmas gifts for people based on their own personal complexes.

To start this game we hand you a little book which lists suggestions for gifts under psychological classifications...

Start the game with your friends.

Play the game of choosing psycho-gifts. It is fascinating...

A treasure hunt, indeed, that will give you a greater Christmas thrill than you ever had before.

Forget the fact that behaviourism didn't believe in complexes per se, this could still be fun if they were using the good, old-fashioned, traditional Freudian complexes. Should you buy starchy underwear for the man with castration anxiety, or orthopedic shoes for sufferers of an Oedipus complex?

But no. As you'd expect, the "complexes" as illustrated are actually just a list of vague personality "types," making the astute observation that children only HAVE one type: "Children."

A treasure hunt that will give you a greater thrill? Nope, just another sad gimmick to get you to buy Christmas gifts. But I don't understand why the bellhop has an exposed catheter, let alone why the housewife is admiring cat poop on the brand new rug.

A Very Stinky Lunchour

The last time I quoted a conversation between two prototypical "Stinkies," the transcription was referred to as "a weird sort of poetry." I couldn't have agreed more.

Now I'm happy to present you with an extended transcript of BOTH SIDES of a stinky conversation, including a bonus "Muffy vs. Stinky" moment at the end.

During lunch today at Tim Horton's, the stinkies sat down at the table next to me as I was trying to write on my portable "Alphasmart Neo." The male stinky (Robert) wears suspenders and looks a bit like a turtle. The female's plumage is brighter -- pink shoes and fuzzy baby-blue pantsuit -- but her mental abilities appear far below Robert's...she repeats herself endlessly and always seems to be annoying him.

Their conversation here starts with the two of them sitting down, then the female stinky lurching to her feet and asking:

You want a donut?

No, I don't want a tea donut, ohhh.

One honey dip. You want it?

Nooo.

She buys a box of timbits and puts it on the table, then stands.

You be here for a while? I'm goin' home now.

You don't need that coat.

I'm cold, my back's cold.

Ohhhh.

I don't wanna get cold on my back. I'm goin' home now. You want your coat?

NO I don't want my coat.

Goin' home now. Goin' home now.

She leaves the store. Robert, alone, sits quietly for a while, then he starts leaning toward me and saying "Ma'am? Ma'am? Ma'am?" I ignore him because I know that if I make any sort of response, he'll start talking and he won't leave me alone.

Fortunately he is interrupted by the store's mentally handicapped employee. This is amusing because the employee really likes Robert, but Robert obviously DOES NOT return the sentiment. The employee keeps telling Robert not to eat donuts because they're bad for his health and will give him a belly. The employee won't go away. He thinks Robert is his best friend.

I become aware that even the stinkies have a pecking order and I feel less bad for ignoring him.

Eventually the woman comes back. She talks with Robert for a bit, and soon I start transcribing again.

It won't last that long. Won't last that long. Got a honey dip, another honey cruller, one honey dip. Got that one. He doesn't like that, you know that? Doesn't like honey cruller. He won't eat that cruller.

How do YOU know what he ain't gonna have?

One boston cream that he'll eat tonight. One boston cream that he'll eat tonight. I tole you.

(A moment of blissful silence).

They makin' honey crullers. You think they makin' honey crullers? You think they makin' honey crullers?

HOW DO I KNOW!

Two of them back there. They two of them. You think they makin' honey crullers? You think they makin' honey crullers?

Suddenly Robert leans toward me and starts saying "Ma'am? Ma'am?" again. I ignore him, pretending to be busy. The female stinky asks him what he wants and he says "I wanna know if she gets a SIGNAL on that thing," gesturing at the keyboard. "MA'AM! MA'AM!" The female stinky says "She's busy" and Robert says "I don't care, I'LL GET MY ANSWER. MA'AM! MA'AM! MA'AM!"

He is now literally YELLING at me and the people in the store are looking at us. I glance up at him and he says "Do you get a signal on that thing?" I say "no" and go back to typing.

The female stinky says "That's a guy, not a ma'am." However confused the female stinky seems to be, I suddenly realize that she's the more socially capable one.

Robert is very disgruntled, muttering at an old lady nearby who's been staring at us. The old lady says -- by way of obvious explanation -- "She's busy," and Robert says "He wants to be like that? He wants to be like THAT?" There is some degree of gender confusion going on now. I continue typing as though nothing's happening

Eventually he calms down. I don't dare transcribe any further now that he's got his eyes on me.

Scrutable Poetry Corner: "Observe the Conventions"

Continuing to prove my amazing taste in scrutable poetry, here's one by Olive Ward from the December 1, 1928 issue of The New Yorker.

What's a girl to do
If the man she's mad about
Prove a bit untrue?
Shoot him for a gadabout?
Take the veil? or brew
Hemlock? Oh pooh-pooh,
Do as the Romans do:
Lug another lad about.

Yet another mysterious '20s poetess...I can't dig up any useful information about her.

Parking in Uptown Waterloo

Personally, I'm thrilled that they're putting a small park in front of Waterloo Town Square. There are certainly other parks in the area, but none of them are adjacent to food or shopping so they have never attained "central meeting place status." I want a place where I can sit and read, surrounded by lots of other people who are socializing and eating and having a break between shopping sprees.

I can also tell you that when things get really hot in town, a park is a blessing and a parking lot a terrible curse.

But you see, the park will replace a certain number of parking spots around the shopping mall, and a lot of people are outraged by this. They say that it's hard enough to find parking in uptown Waterloo as it is, so replacing that parking lot with green space will drive people away from uptown businesses.

Now, I walk through uptown Waterloo every day so I get a pretty good sense of where people are parking. I agree that cars are constantly cruising around the entrances to Waterloo Town Square, getting frustrated because they can't find a spot...A SPOT WITHIN THIRTY FEET OF THE DOORS.

Maybe I'm just particularly able-bodied, but there is a huge free lot next to the mall -- right across Willis Way -- that is NEVER more than 1/3 full. That lot is literally a minute's walk away from Waterloo Town Square -- and by extension the rest of the uptown shops -- but most people would rather drive their cars around the entrances than walk for more than a few seconds at a stretch.

I have only recently begun driving again so perhaps I'm missing something, but I simply don't see a "parking for shoppers" problem in uptown Waterloo. There certainly seems to be a logjam of city workers who need to park in the garage adjacent to the bank -- something needs to be tweaked there during rush hour, for sure -- but if you want to park within walking distance of the shopping, YOU CAN.

I made the mistake of asking one of the nice employees in the mall when the new park would be built, and she went off on a surprising tirade about it all. Strangely, her objection was NOT to the removal of the parking spots. She said the new park would "attract all the bums, bring in more alcohol, become dangerous..."

And I was like, "the bums are already IN uptown, and the park is going to be tiny and full of businessmen on their lunch." It had never even OCCURRED to me that the park could somehow be a "safety issue," being as you'll be able to walk from one end to the other in fifteen seconds.

I can only assume that this bizarre "dangerous park" thing is a fallback complaint after somebody deflated complaint number one ("not enough parking") by monitoring the mostly-empty lot next door and presenting their results.

Sometimes I jump to conclusions without having all the facts. But until somebody can explain to me why they can't park within walking distance of uptown -- with or without the new park -- I can only assume that those folks are lazy bums who'll be surprised to learn they actually have feet.

An Urge to Skin the Noisy Cat

Oh, jeez. For the last few days my cat has been demanding food at 5:00am. I have ignored her, locked her out of my bedroom, and given her a hard swat on her famous bum, but if anything this morning she was TWICE as bad. And when I finally DID feed her at 7:30am she didn't even EAT any of it, which means she wasn't particularly hungry beforehand.

My cat and I have a "don't give me no guff" relationship; she learned long ago that pestering me doesn't help, and she generally only meows obsessively when she's communicating an urgent message (like "mouse in the vent!" or "radiation cloud!")

But I've noticed, recently, that her needy meowing has slipped the bonds of necessity and become sheer annoying petulance. I think she's becoming a bit senile.

Anyway, this 5am breakfast demand has got to stop, if not least because it probably wakes my neighbour up. But the only way I can stop it is by continuing to ignore her.

Reuben's Strikes Again

I can't help imagining Evelyn Herbert opening The New Yorker on December 1, 1928, and shouting "Those NOSY STINKING BASTARDS!"

Yes, the folks at Reuben's restaurant have done it again. I think this is my favourite so far.

Masses of brightly burnished gold floated gracefully through our door the other November eve. A scientific phenomenon? Well...that's hardly the right appellation for the glowing, golden voiced EVELYN HERBERT, is it now? And though our heart was elsewhere, we could not help but notice, later, that not one delicious morsel of Reuben's priceless Chicken Madiola was escaping Miss Herbert's fork!

Madly Revolving Neighbours

What is it about my apartment building, anyway? DOES IT SUCK SO BAD?

Nobody manages to live in the unit next to me for more than a few months at a time. Sometimes this is good -- as with the chain-smoking woman and her psychotic dog -- but now it turns out that I'm losing the first REALLY GOOD neighbour I've ever had there.

My definition of "really good" is "I barely know he's there." I haven't written about him because I don't him to get angry and stuff gobs of feces into the air vent. I also don't want to jinx a good thing...traditionally, as soon as I say a person is "quiet," that person decides to open a boozecan and take up the drums.

I just learned today -- through secondhand gossip -- that my mysterious neighbour is moving out soon. My first thought was that he got tired of hearing the Doctor Who theme across the wall, but chances are he viewed this apartment the way so many people do: as a springboard to a house. May his first home be a happy one.

Since he'll be leaving and I can no longer offend him with personal details, let me tell you a little bit about him:

* He's a fantastic trumpet player, but he only plays it in moderation. One day his teacher came over and they did a jazzy back-and-forth that was actually worth listening to. I'm glad he doesn't play it all the time, but it's nice to hear him play occasionally.

* He eats very early breakfasts. Each weekday morning at 4:30am I wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs drifting through the cracks in the walls. Do you know how hard it is to fall back to sleep when you're smelling such a thing?

* For some reason, a female visitor in a little red car would always come over and park in the middle of the parking lot. Like, she wouldn't park in an actual parking spot, she would just pull in halfway and leave the car as an obstacle for everybody else to get around. She was otherwise extremely nice, and to this day I'm unable to figure out why she did such a thing.

So no more mysterious neighbour. As usual I offer up my semi-monthly "Unit A Prayer," which goes something like this:

Please God, don't send me a loud person.
Make sure they're gentle and peaceful and odourless.
Definitely no pets.

Please God, give them quiet feet on the creaky stairway
and no loud parties in the parking lot,
and a sleeping schedule that's identical to mine.

If they MUST have a pet, make it a lizard or a turtle.

Please God, provide them with open minds
and a friendly, considerate attitude.
May their intercourse be fast,
and may I stay downwind of their stinky food.

If there's a baby I will die.

Amen.