Time to change time again

Uh, I can never remember. It's fall forward and spring back, right?

It doesn't really matter. I might as well leave the clocks where they are, or just shut them off completely. I have nothing approaching a rigid schedule, anyway. I come and go more or less at will, mostly sitting still in front of a flickering screen of some kind ... oh yeah, I guess there's a reason to change the clocks: So I can know when it's time to watch TV. Maybe I should just finally get that Tivo I've been resolving to get for about three years now. Then time will finally mean nothing.

And time, or at least TV, stands still during the off-season anyway, especially on days after nights in which, to paraphrase Al Pacino in Godfather 2, this old man drank too much wine. Today was the first baseball-less Saturday in over six months, and I spent half the afternoon in a hung-over stupor fruitlessly riding the remote. Which was not pretty, because I just can't get into college football. After resorting to watching an episode on the Create network of Lidia the crazy fat bald Italian chef making gnocchi for about the fourth time, I realized that I was no longer very excited about getting an extra hour this weekend. Then I took another nap.

It's a challenge stuffing 4 ounces of living into a 10-pound bag.

Baseball is now over

In case you were wondering, statistically speaking, the 06 St. Louis Cardinals rank among the worst champions of all time. Their numbers are terrible. It's widely believed (including by me) that they got into the playoffs as a fluke and didn't deserve to be there. And then they mowed em down. Buncha fucked up ignint and injured rednecks, with a midget at short, and a pissy midget at that, no sense a humor atall. Wow, I hate them, but I'm glad they won. Oughta piss a lot of sports nerds off.

A Brief Stupid Dispatch from Kolickybabistan

Everyone on-jumping bandwagon of stupid fake Borats this days. Make example, thinkly veingled secret Naked Raygun show ... so why should this blog except? (Besides sheer stupidly, that is.) Yes!

Onlies, I, Stronger Than Goat Beet Moss-Covered-Roof-House, am ripping off instead original dimwitted eurasian web yokel, Mahir. Straight to bullock's anus, my people alway fable-tell. Watch out, he kiss you. You need get shot of tetanus. Is favorite Kolickybabistanian drinking game.

I like musics. Here is rare nougat from smoked hot Dekalbistan skomorokhs scene, in oval of 1987. Itinerant rascals Otis Ball & The Chains make rehearse of classical Kulak protest song, "My Tiny Little Member Tender, Yes?", using new high-tech windmill stole from Industrial Commisariat for energie juices make go electric balalaika for you enjoy. Is nice. Dos equis your bongo.



Otis Ball & the Chains - Try a Little Tenderness

Otis Ball & the Chains - Rat Fink 1986

And now, because you didn't ask for it not to be posted, more vintage OB & the Classic Chains.

It's the Fucking World Series, Nurse Ratched: Yeah Hup, Tigers! YouTube Mixtape

It's World Series time, and in the easily misinterpreted words of Randle Patrick McMurphy, "Somebody get me a fucking wiener before I die!"

In honor of the Motor City hosting the Fall Classic for the first time in a little while, here's these. Turn up the speakers.



MC5 - Kick Out The Jams



KISS - Detroit Rock City (Paul Lynde Special)



Iggy & The Stooges - TV Eye/1970 (Cincinnati Pop Festival -- if you watch only one embedded YouTube video on this blog this week, make it "Charles Manson's Birthday," but if you watch two, make this the second one)



Ted Nugent - Wango Tango (also has suburban Chicago ties -- we miss you, Ma Nugent)



Suzi Quatro - 48 Crash



Funkadelic - Cosmic Slop



Special Bonus: Radio Birdman - TV Eye (not from Detroit, but the Australian Detroit Sound kicks ass)



And Because Too Much Is Never Enough: Radio Birdman - New Race (Yeah hup!)

Do You Remember Rock and Roll Public Access Video? (STD/TV: Sorta Part Two, Sorta Part One, if You Don't Count the Earlier Tease Post as Part One)

Ah, anniversaries! They're the stuff of remembering things that happened a round-number's-worth of years ago.

Most people like to commemorate the happy anniversaries -- weddings, graduations, formations of businesseseses -- but I like to pause now and then to mark the passage of blocks of time since the occurrence of various hurtful, humiliating, and disastrous things, too. Maybe even moreso. There sure are more of those to remember than the good times.

And here's the story of another one. Maybe it really even happened the way I'm about to tell it. You'll have to take my word for it.

It was Autumn 1986, and my favorite ex-Cub, Bill Buckner, had just blown Game 6 of the World Series for the Red Sox (speaking of bad anniversaries relived over and over for eternity). Anyway, I was spending my evenings hosting a late-night public access talk show on the _______ cable system's STD/TV channel. I think it stood for Standard Television Display Television, but I'm not sure.

The name of my show was STD/PM, and it was pretty popular. Well, my mom said it was good. She also used to say that girls smiled when I walked into a room because they liked me, and not because they were stifling a mocking laugh. I guess that's also why they made those sinus infection noises with their noses and excused themselves right away ... but I'm digressing here.

So one day station management decided -- several years behind the rest of the nation -- that music videos were the new big thing, and it was time for STD/TV to join the videolution. They killed my talk show to make room for the new format, but they were willing to let me stay on as head veejay. I was in no position to refuse.

Now I just had to choose what to use to launch STD/TV's Music Video Cable Access Now With Video Featuring Music. You know, our "Video Killed the Radio Star." But I needed a fresh hook. The premiere was set for November 12, so I headed for the men's room and grabbed an almanac.

What happened on November 12 in history? Let's see. A lot. 1918 -- Austria becomes a republic. 1927 -- Leon Trotsky is expelled from the Soviet Communist Party AND the Holland Tunnel opens. 1969 -- My Lai. Ooh, maybe a bit TOO negative. But what's this? 1934 -- Charles Manson is born.

Bingo.

Now, Charles Manson's 52nd birthday was not exactly a round number, but I had been led to understand that Mr. Manson was very fond of card tricks, and there are 52 cards in a standard deck (sans Jokers), so ...

STD/TV was far from an award-winning public access cable channel, but it had a pretty phenomenal video library. With minutes to airtime, I located the perfect video. At the time, I didn't know much about it, except that it was by an obscure band from Hoboken called Otis Ball & The Chains. And the name of the song was "Charles Manson's Birthday."

The rest is history. Painful, painful history. Long story short, that was my last day in the employ of STD/TV.

I was really disappointed I didn't get to stick around a bit longer to play the follow-up hit, "Carl Mannberg's Bar Mitzvah" ... although that wouldn't really make a lot of sense anyway, because I'm pretty sure "Carl Mannberg" is a Swedish name.

Hey, by the way, what do you call a deaf Swede? Hard of herring!

We would also have accepted, "Vutever y'vunt! He can't hear ya anyvay!"

OK, why is Count Dracula second-guessing my punchlines now? Never mind, just watch this video.

Thanks to the magic of YouTube: Otis Ball & The Chains perform "Charles Manson's Birthday!"



Coming soon: On November 12, 2006 -- STD/TV returns!

Freddy Fender

Freddy Fender has died at the age of 69.

Flash! Exclusive Bulletin! The (Imminent) Return of STD/TV!

Colicky Baby Records and Tapes is proud to announce, now, a special celebration in honor of the 20th anniversary of STD/TV. It was Nov 13, 1986 and STD/TV was on the air! Or ... cable. There must be some air in cables? I think they use satellites. Although there's no air in space. And it was public access cable. I don't think they have satellites. Anyway ... The very first video aired cabled was "Charles Manson's Birthday" by Otis Ball & the Chains.

The response was overwhelming. We were immediately removed from the air. Cable. Public access.

But on Nov 13, 2006, we return! And we're coming back with a world premiere! The debut of Otis Ball & the New Chains with two brand new videos!! (That's one exclamation point per video!)

Bookmark this blog and return often. Yes. Always.

Coming soon: Details! Soon!

The Name of This Song Is Not "Bernadette" -- Doing Battle with a Dead Medium

I don't have a CD player in my car, or even a cassette deck, and I am so far away from having enough energy or patience to set myself up with one of them iPod radio magillicuddies that you wouldn't believe it. Three or four days a week I drive 25 miles to and from work, which takes about an hour each direction.

Therefore, I listen to the radio a lot. Radio today is perhaps the most dreaded mass medium of all. The vast majority of it is horrible, and getting worse every year. Nobody wants to listen to the radio anymore, and I don't blame them.

But, a lot of the time, I enjoy the challenge. I like to confront radio head on. I ain't takin' no guff from no dilapidated mass medium!

There are a couple Chicago rock stations that purport to be special, and occasionally they play something good. There is a decent oldies station with a pretty big playlist. But the preset buttons get a hell of a workout from me on every commute. It's like hunting snipe. And since I only have a few preset buttons in my crappy car, I've learned how many pushes of the tuning button up or down it takes to get to the next station that might, maybe, possibly be playing something I can stand to listen to, or, maybe even like. So when I run out of presets to monitor, I'm flipping two up or eight down to try another one. Still, sometimes I can't even find a single passable commercial radio station that isn't playing ... a commercial.

In Chicago, we are lucky to have several very good noncommercial stations, and I'm lucky enough to be able to tune many of them in -- among them, WNUR, WLUW, WZRD, WDCB -- but their programming is erratic, as it should be, and their geographic coverage areas are mostly pretty limited. Although sometimes I can leave it on one of those stations for the whole trip.

I don't listen to WBEZ.

So, yeah, that's how the commute generally goes. Plus, whenever any Four Tops song comes on the oldies station, no matter which song, I like to yell "BERNADETTE!!!" at the top of my lungs, especially in the summertime when I have the window rolled down.

When they come to take me away, you can say you saw it coming.

Easter Egg

By the way, for the less keen-eyed of you, not to mention the less "in the know," if you scroll back down to the Windy City Rollers You Tube vid a couple posts ago, watch closely for a brief cameo by Friend of the Blog, Kirby The Beekeeper, in full regalia.

Hey, MySpace Cadets

If you, too, fiddle around with Rupert Murdoch's social networking site, check out Stronger Than Dirt Pete Moss's profile and don't be shy with the add-friend requests.

This is the hairy person / Who caused the sun to shine

Please welcome the baseball off-season official favorite sports team of the blog to the Colicky Baby Records and Tapes family: The New Zealand (Rugby) All Blacks.

Early Warning: One month from now, the All Blacks will be kicking England's pasty asses in London in 2006 Internationals action.

POSTSCRIPT: Runner-up with a bullet for the CBRAT sports team league of the baseball off-season: The Windy City Rollers.

I've miles and miles of files, pretty files of your forefathers' fruit, and now to suit our great computer

From the random bits of dreck in my My Documents folder comes this chemically induced gem from October 2004:

2004 is the year that killed Spalding Gray

Do you realize that 2004 is the year that killed Spalding Gray, Rodney Dangerfield, AND Jacques Derrida? I know lots of people croak each year, but this seems like an insane trio. Mind you, I was not any kind of student of Derrida, but there has always been something about him that made him easy to make a joke about despite microscopically minimal understanding of or even exposure to his work. And I dug that, and I thought he'd always be there for me.

And the other two ... my brothers. I debride necrotized tissue from my soul at their passing.

I had a dream about being in a half-submerged dumpster being towed by a tugboat in a blackish shallow bay, and in the deep end of the half-submerged dumpster was a giant octopus, snarling its obsequious tentacles up toward me, apologetically caressing me, cowering high in a dry corner.

See, I have this theory of information science that there are two modes: "needing stuff," and "finding stuff." And they are not necessarily, even not probably, simultaneous. So, what this leads me to, is the belief that bookmarking is an enormously important, and often overlooked, feature of a research tool. OK, so I spend an hour or two some night, or I hire a doe-eyed law school research assistant geek to write me a "memo" about it, god knows the cowering pre-pubes need structures like that, to look it up in my handy online research toolage ... OK, so, I found what I want -- now I want to fucking put a goddamn heavy rock here, or a giant magic marker arrow, or a festering monkey butt, I dunno, but what I want is to MARK this goddamn page, because I will be able to USE this page 1 million times during my career, like 80 times a day, because this passage here is the one I wanna quote, I wanna put it in every brief, I wanna fuck it with my trial advocacy, I wanna suck it with my appellate advocacy, and by god, by god, by ... god ... I had ...better .. be ... able ...to .. GET ... BACK .. TO .. THIS goddamn piece of text that I ...SWEAR ... I ... DID ... NOT ... HALLUCINATE ......... and if I can't find that fucking thing in one fucking second, I will cancel this piece of shit faster than I can insult the fuck out of your cheap piece of shit suit, you dickless loser.

Never mind the colicky baby, just read this

As a source for biting and apt commentary on Chicago media (with a strong focus on the increasingly shitty Sun-Times and continually flaccid Tribune), The Beachwood Reporter is what Colicky Baby Records and Tapes would be if I had any talent, energy, or work ethic. If you're interested in Chicago media and the news business in general, it's a daily must-read. Here's a fine small excerpt from today's installment:

The Greene Room
It's looking more and more like Mark Foley's behavior was an open secret. The Tribune will have to tread lightly on chastisting Hastert for ignoring this or being so out-of-touch with his members that he was unaware of it, because that's just what [Tribune editor Ann Marie] Lipinski and her minions argued about Bob Greene, whose behavior was widely known to everyone else.

Ouch!

Things I Will Not Be Doing to Kill Time During the Baseball Off-Season

About 10 years ago, a Chinese doctor once accused me of being "obbashesshive-commapursshive," which diagnosis I rejected at the time, but with reflection I've come to appreciate his insight. His analysis was off with regard to subject matter -- he was thinking I was obbashesshive-commapurshhive about my job, which I definitely am not. But fixating on the summertime game with the white ball and the wooden sticks and the overpaid jerks ... I guess I have been overdoing that a little bit for the last few decades. And with that condition in mind, I admit that I probably will be spending an inordinate amount of time between now and Spring Training following the usual baseball off-season bullshit: managerial and coaching hirings and firings, player trades, various effluvia from the Arizona Fall League and Venezuelan winter ball action, and, in more desperate moments, a little football and maybe even some hockey.

It's probably more fruitful to contemplate what I'm not going to do during the long, cold months ahead. So I'm starting a list, and here's item one:

(1) Downloading any more Sufjan Stevens mp3s in an effort to understand why the tastemasters have been cumming so hard over him and his boring, overrated crap the last few years.

That should open up a few minutes over the next 180 or so days.

Young people today: What's with all the dignity?

So Zipgun and STDPM caught the Clap Your Hands Say Yeah show over by The Vic the other night. The Affirmatively Expressive Clappy fellas have turned into quite polished pros in the last year, which could be a negative sign, but it was still a pretty good little indie rock confab. I can't get used to the current crop of teeny boppers, though. They seem to think the name of the band is Keep Your Body As Still As Possible No Dancing Allowed.

Yeah, that's right, Grampa, reminisce about all that pogoing you did back during the Great Depression. Sure. That's cool. Today's kids are just smarter, is all. That dancy-leapy exuberant kind of behavior can, like, get you kicked out of a club, old man!

Speaking of old men, here's a clip of Get The Clap Say Ouch on Dave Letterman's show, aka the "I Can't Believe This Ancient Artifact Of A Show Is Still On TV; I Never Watch It Anymore" program:



Next stop for Clamp That Thing It's Leaking Bad: Beer commercials and ESPN Sports Center interludes. Following that, Betty Ford, a long period of absence, and, finally, a triumphant reunion at the Fox halftime show for the 2031 Super Bowl in a double bill with Mission Of Burma.

Cubs fans finally complete transformation into walking rectums with dumb blue caps

Yeah, STDPM and The Dez made the scene at yesterday's Last Cubs Game (Thank God) of 2006 -- and a sad scene it was. I'm not a big fan of Dusty Baker*, and people have a right to be a dick, I guess, but the "Bye Bye Dusty" signs and gratuitous booing served as additional confirmation that Cubs fans have turned into that most hateful and despicable of sports enthusiasts -- Red Sox fans.

The fact that there are any Cubs fans at all is bewildering enough. The fact that in 2006, more than 3.12 million tickets were sold for the last place team's 81 home games is a mystery for the ages. But the fact that an apparent majority of these people paid among the highest prices in professional baseball to show up and boo, cuss, and whine like ... well, like little Bostonians -- that's just something else.

Well, now they don't have Dusty Baker to kick around anymore. Unfortunately, there's about zero chance that the Cubs won't suck hard again next season. And three million people will show up to complain about it.

But that's an easy prediction to make, even on the first day of the off-season. Yes, the 2007 Cubs will stink to high heaven. Unfortunately, I have a bad feeling -- supported by nothing other than intuition -- that the White Sox are going to be stuck in 3rd place all next year, and by July, a large and loud contingent of fans will be screaming for Ozzie Guillen's head on a plate.

OK, that's it. This is my last Cubs or White Sox-related post of 2006. Here come the playoffs. You're dying to know who I'm rooting for, right? Well, without elaboration, I'm rooting for the not-Yankees and not-Mets above anyone else, but I suppose I can support the Dodgers and A's, if that's what it's come to.

*For the record, I was one of the few hoping they'd keep Baker, and that they'd strangle Mark Prior and ship Kerry Wood to Guantanamo ... but I digress.