The 3rd redesign just got sent back to us – and I love it. Ladies and Hooligans, Chris and I are proud to present – GoonBlog. Be sure to refresh the page a few times to see how the design cycles slightly, and we welcome your comments. There are still some layout/content shifts to work out (Hockey news RSS feed, calendar, etc.) but this is 95% of the finished product. Thanks to Mike from EWebscapes for putting up with our pickiness. Tell a friend.
Archives for August 2005
Wednesday Wadio: Nouvelle Vague’s "Friday Night…"
“But two o’clock has come again, It’s time to leave this paradise. Hope the chip shop isn’t closed, Cos’ their pies are really nice. I’ll eat in the taxi queue, Standing in someone else’s spew. Wish I had lipstick on my shirt, Instead of piss stains on my shoes.” – FNSM, The Specials.
Friday Night, Saturday Morning was a hit for The Specials way, way back in 1981 – And it’s a ska-based, horn-heavy, seizure inducing masterpiece. It was one of the B-Sides to their hit “Ghost Town” (heard most recently in the movie “Snatch”), but it took on a life of it’s own and eventually grew almost as popular as the song it was supplementing. It’s a great snapshot of the life of a young English pisshead, and I’d bet several pints on it being a favorite of Mike Skinner’s.
The irony in this song is that while the lyricist lives a highly social weekend, he spends quite a bit of time on the edge of the dance floor and still feels lonely when the night is over.
My sister played Nouvelle Vague’s version of the song the last time we drove up to Canada and I fell in love immediately. NV is a French band who’s claim to fame is not their own material – but rather covers of famous alt/indie rock favorites from the 80s. You can listen to more examples of their interpretations of hits by The Cure, The Clash and Joy Division here.
Their idea was to forget the initial punk or new wave background of each song, keep simple fundamental chords, work with young singers who never heard the orginal versions and make the quality of original songwriting happen in a completely different way. (bossa nova, jazz style and sixties pop).
I wouldn’t count on this band being around 2 years from now, but it’s a very cool idea and the project was well-executed. I love this record, and it’s a definite must for any eightiesaphile. Providing you then make a point of tracking down all the originals, Duckie.
Pre-Nuptual Newport Naughtiness.
I’ll get to posting photos and deep thoughts on Triconi’s wedding eventually – on that note, please send me photos of the actual Saturday service if you were there as my camera malfunctioned for exactly 24 hours for some very strange reason and I missed out. To keep your gallery appetite whetted in the meantime, I proudly present a selection of ridiculous pics from Chris’ bachelor party in Newport three weekends ago.
Eighteen holes of golf, a fifteen man party-bus, a thousand dollar-a-night Mohegan Sun suite. Well done to brother Matt, the organizer, and here’s hoping everyone forgets my Ketel One induced towel-clad antics by the time the wedding rolls around next month. Enjoy.
Missing Connections Like My Name Was Craig.
We were cruising at about 35,000 feet last night when I started to notice that the Russian guy sitting two rows in front of me was just a little ‘off’. It wasn’t a gut feeling, or an inkling or a hunch. Rather – it was the fact that he got up, walked into the stewardess’s galley and came out with two meals which he then proceeded to wolf down while the takeoff seatbelt sign was still on.
The stewardesses, hostesses, whatever you’re supposed to call them nowadays – were towards the front of the cabin, but soon enough one of them walked back and caught Vladimir chowing down. And on a special, pre-ordered kosher meal no less. She looked at me incredulously and asked hypothetically “What the hell does he think he’s doing?” To which an older man seated directly across the aisle from me answered “You need to get security watching that guy”. Jason then threw in his $0.02 – very loud and in no uncertain terms, “I wanna knock that friggin’ idiot out”. I liked his idea better. It’s a scary world, and when you’re airborne airborne head-shaking and tut-tuting at the idiosynchracies of others should always be foregone in favor of one .45 caliber round behind the ear from an Air Marshall’s glock.
I was supposed to get to my Boston office around 9 a.m. this morning. We had an overnight, red-eye flight from Vancouver to Toronto, and then an immediate connecting flight through to Boston. It was too perfect. In reality, we never stood a ghost of a chance of making the connection, and as 10 other Beantown hopefuls chirped at a gallery of Air Canada employees Jason and I choked back the bitter and got boarding passes for Pittsburgh.
From Pittsburgh we managed to eventually get to Boston a good 7 hours later. Due to a storm Saturday night, air traffic was backed up and we waited an hour on the tarmac and then another hour in a holding pattern before we finally got home. 20 hours, four airports, a rental car and a taxi later – I was unlocking my apartment door and being scolded by a cat. And it was heavenly. I do not want to see the inside of an airplane again for a very, very long time. Unless, of course, it’s one of these.
Monday’s Quotelet: Does Whatever A Spider Can.
After another home loss to the Sox, a suicidal Yankees fan momentarily forgets that Peter Parker has season tickets.
Where Does He Get Those Wonderful Toys?
We’re four hours into the flight to Vancouver, and Tim Burton’s Batman is better than I remember it. The first movie shown was Kicking and Screaming, but now Air Canada has gotten all retro on us. Jason and I enjoyed a lovely airline pancake breakfast and now he’s reading The Perfect Storm while I struggle to keep from going truly batty in my cramped little aisle.
As we were waiting to board the plane at 7am, we ran into Jeff B. who’s also going to the wedding and is sitting two rows behind us as I type. When we land, we’re going to sync up somewhere in Vancouver proper and I imagine they’ll end up in one of the city’s new Amsterdammy cafes while I skulk around for a suit. Then – it’s on to Whistler. We have to be at the hotel for a champagne reception by 8.
I think that somewhere in the middle of this very hectic, very short and phenomenally expensive (tack the new suit onto the already hefty tab) weekend – a really great time might emerge. So I press on in hope.
You Know How To Whistler, Don’t You?
Jason and I are packing up and getting ready to ship out to Dougie’s wedding at 5am tomorrow morning. I stopped by the dry cleaner’s on the way home to get my suit – only to find out that this afternoon’s North End explosions had rendered it evacuated. So either I’ll be buying a suit out in Whistler, or attending the nuptuals in my Big Country T-shirt. And you all know how much I’d like that.
I will likely check in and do some Kerouac-esque road-blogging from British Colombia, but until then I’ll leave you with a fun meme. Don’t hurt yourselves:
Name three people (famous or personal friends) and the custom ringtones you’ve either set for them on your phone, or would if you could.
Grading The Goons.
You’ve all heard me mention GoonBlog several times over the last three months. It’s actually been live for a few weeks now, and Chris and I have been hard at work in our rare spare time finding our voice and putting some content together while the graphic design takes place in the background. I have a lot of faith in this project for a variety of reasons, so I decided to pony up some duckets for a professional design.
We didn’t want to ‘roll it out’ until it was 100% done – but I’ve just gotten the first mockup back from the graphic designer and I want some feedback before I give him another round of changes to make. Click here to go to the designer’s site, and then select GoonBlog from the dropdown menu on the right.
I almost really like it. The gloves as a background image in each post, the Stanley Cups beside the titles, the center ice design at the top – but I’m not ‘wowed yet’ and I desperately want to be. The designer is obviously talented, and followed my exploratory round of suggestions to the letter, but it needs a ‘little something’. Here are a few of my ideas, and I look forward to hearing some of yours, dear reader.
– Cartoon players are duking it out rather than checking.
– Post cell is shaded with a light grey instead of surrounded by a thin border.
– Less real estate used at the top of the screen for the graphics.
– “GoonBlog” is more condensed and both words are on the same line. Saves space and will allow us to repurpose it as a logo.
– Yank the crossed hockey sticks.
Those are some of my first impressions. Detroit and I look forward to some of yours. We didn’t want to ‘drop the curtain’ before we officially ‘dropped the gloves’, but we have – so rip into it and slug us with some feedback. And be sure to have a look at the current version of the site so you can get the big picture/bored to frozen tears.
Wednesday Wadio: "Hearing Voices".
‘Hearing Voices‘ ties with ‘Another Day’ for 1st place as my favorite Galaxie 500 songs of all time. Growing up just outside of Boston while this band was in its heyday in the late eighties, many of my close friends were into them and it was only a matter of time before I too blasted off. Like most Galaxie songs, a three year old with a head wound could learn how to play it in less time than it would take to a gnat to belch – but the melodic bass line and plodding guitar grab you in the first seconds and don’t let go. This is definitely the sort of hypnotic tune you could swerve off the highway at night to. But that doesn’t appear anywhere in the liner notes.
“I hear a jukebox, French fries and beer, And people are talkin somewhere…” Either the protagonist of this song lives above a bar, or he’s off his meds – take your pick. And he’s got superhero hearing if he’s picking up the french fries and the beer. If this song contains any hidden meaning, then my powers of explication honed during 4 years of an English B.A. are completely baffled. But I love it and it’s a good introduction to an extremely influential trio – see what you think by clicking on the radio to your left.
Jeff M. Writes: (He’s not versed in the comments yet, apparently…)
Hey Dave,
I saw your Galaxie 500 post and I thought I would brag and tell you that I have Naomi’s Bass amp that she used on all their records and tours. It has Galaxie 500 painted all over the road case and even has a handwrittten letter to her from the guy at Trace Elliot Amps with instructions on how to convert the voltage to 220 for their upcoming UK tour. I saw them open for Big Dipper at TT’s in 1988 and recorded the BD set, but not the G-500 set. Oh well…
Bastard. Please will that signed Pixies poster to Mike, who will subsequently will it to me, at which point I will subsequently have you both snuffed.
A Deadly Anniversary.
I was driving in the “War Pig†(our ’88 Ford half ton truck) when upon the radio, which only got Oldies 103.3, I could faintly hear “Alabama Getaway†by the Grateful Dead. I thought it strange that the station know for 50’s and 60’s hits would be playing the Dead, but I dismissed it, and turned it up. After the tune was over the DJ says, “sad news from California, Dead frontman Jerry Garcia was found dead this morning.†I was in Carlisle on a windy road, and when I got the news I damn near drove off the road. Jerry is dead. The Long Strange Trip is over. Wow. Heavy words to be sure. I picked up the radio and buzzed JD. He hadn’t heard the news, and was just as stunned.
Upon my return home, I came in the house, and grabbed the mail. In the box was an envelope with the unmistakable Steal Your Face symbol. My Fall tickets for several shows at the Garden, and RFK had arrived. Thanks for kicking me while I am down. My phone rang constanly for the next couple of hours. “Did you Hearâ€, and “Jerry’s dead†was the common theme. Stories of shows past, and theories on what the rest of the band was going to do were the most common topics. We thought of driving North, as Bob Weir was playing the Hampton Beach Casino Ballroom that evening, but instead, we went to the Razzi to comeserate over a couple of pints.
Henry was pissed. “Well, there goes the fucking fall tour†I think was his exact quote. We drank at the Razzi, and listened to the Dead. People that asked to have the music changed were met with a tirade of swears, and generally dirty looks from JD and I. Luckily we spent enough time and money in the joint we pretty much had the run of the place. When we had our fill, we walked home to sleep it off. It’s hard to believe it’s been 10 years since Jerry died. As the song says, the Music Never Stopped. RIP Jerry.
Submitted by Chris (aka Detroit Velvet Smooth).
The Pixies Are My Girlfriend.
Today started out pretty flipping rotten. The usual Sunday bout of insomnia stretched on until 4 a.m. – and a beeping hallway fire alarm battery compounded the problem. I awoke at 9 with little sleep and a lot less patience. When I got to work and discovered that our Exchange server was down, and we had no access to the internet or email, I looked a certain coworker up and down and wondered if his head would fit in the mail tube. Luckily it didn’t.
Then, in the midst of trying to ram a business card holder up my own nostril, I got an email from a friend confirming a rumor I’d heard a week ago and then completely forgotten about – The Pixies were playing a ‘secret’ gig at the tiny Paradise, and 300 tickets had already gone on sale that morning which subsequently sold out in seconds. It seems the band needed some extra footage for a live DVD which is in the works, and the show had been kept under wraps because space was even more limited than usual due to all the video equipment required. I briefly cruised Craig’s List looking for tickets/love and gave up when I saw absolutely zippy del nada. And anyway, I’ve seen the band 5 times in the last year and a half and figured I could sit this one out.
Then, around 3pm, I spoke to Moynihan who told me his brother Jeff was going down and I got the sultry damp Pixies itch (or Pixitch,) all over again. It was a special, mini-show with a small amount of civilians and the rest of the crowd made up of industry people and Pixies’ family members. I’d heard enough – and immediately my fanatical dormant fanboy alter-ego took the controls and I posted feverishly on CL proclaiming my willingness to pay a silly amount of cash for a ticket. I was on the phone with a fairweather fan named Matt less than an hour later. Money talks, and hipsters who wait in line overnight can walk/fuck right off.
I was only able to get one ticket, and as I sat in T’s pub by myself killing time before the show I felt very odd. But – it was what it was – and I knew I was lucky to be there at all. About 10 minutes after I sat down at the bar, David Lovering came in with a friend and stood right beside me. I met David on the street before I saw The Pixies at The Paradise in 1988 and it was as if things had suddenly come full circle. I approached him very calmly, shook his hand and wished him a great show. He was extremely nice and after speaking with him I walked over to the Paradise and headed inside. Albeit with the skippy fricking gait of a 12-year-old girl who’d just met Aaron Carter.
It was an incredibly cool scene inside – more like a TV show taping than a concert. I walked in and immediately located Jeff and his girlfriend. 10 minutes after I got there, the show started up and raged on unabated for almost 2 hours. I’ll go into more detail when I get the photos developed (I bought a disposable for the occasion). We were literally 7 feet from the stage with cameras on mechanical arms flying all around us and the house lights up full-tilt. I hadn’t been at such an intimate Pixies concert since 16 years prior when I stood in the exact same spot in the exact same building having the exact same hissy.
So I like the Pixies a whole hell of a lot, but it could be worse. Some folks substitute drugs, porn, prostitutes or a delightful mixture of all three in the absence of a signifigant other. If The Pixies are my substitute, that really ain’t so bad. The little tart has been putting out a lot lately.
See an ongoing discussion of the show here.
Monday’s Quotelet: Don’t Make Me Cut You, Chucha!
Competitions during the Honduras Women’s Prison Beauty Pageant included talent, swimsuit and vaginal smuggling.
Deaf Karaoke Jam.
I’d been at a pub with a friend for an hour or so last night, when the bartender told us that a Karaoke DJ was setting up. We rolled our eyes and started talking about our next move (the frick out of there) when a large group of 20-somethings invaded the place. As they ordered beer and talked amongst themselves, it quickly became apparent that they were all hearing impaired – hands were flying wildly in conversation and folks were writing messages for the bartender to read. We decided to order one last round and sit tight, as it was deaf-initely about to get very interesting. See what I did there?
After a regular got up and did the worst version of “With or Without You” I’ve ever heard, the deaf kids started getting into the action. They read the words off the monitor and tried to keep time with the music. Maybe they could feel the vibrations of the music – I have no idea – but they all get an ‘A’ for effort in my book. At the conclusion of every song, the crowd went wild and the smiles those people had on their faces when stepping of the stage were a sight to behold. Good for them.
Friday’s Quizzlet: Crowded House Of Pain.
Appetizer: Briefly describe your living room.
You can have a look for yourself right here. Note the mugshot of a young Sinatra (it’s the same photo you can see on the wall of Tony Soprano’s office) then there’s the singing Dean Martin doll, the Tragically Hip tour pster over the fireplace, way too many DVDs, The Bullitt poster to the left of the fridge, a James Dean, a DeNiro and finally Tony from Big Country strumming away on the television. The middle of the big white couch is where I write the majority of my entries here – so welcome to my world. And if you want to see what the place looks like when the Concord or Welland boys come to visit, we can do that too.
Soup: List 3 things you’d like to accomplish before the end of 2005.
I’d like to complete all of the half-finished websites I have ‘in development’. A friend recently called me a ‘fanatical collector of domain names’ and she’s right – but there’s a few good ideas lurking amongst all the false starts, and I need to focus them into some revenue streams. But likely I’ll just start building filthy clown porn sites because according to my server logs, that’s an unexploited niche. Picture a red rubber nose that can also be repurposed as a ball gag, and you’ll see where I’m going with this/throw up.
Salad: When you’re online, what do you spend the most time doing?
Managing PPC accounts, checking on client rankings, hunting for custom made jewelry and looking for that perfect Boston Interior Designer. Nate sent me this site today where people combine band names. I submitted my own this morning and we’ll see if it gets published. “Pack it up, pack it in, let me rock it like the Finns…“
Main Course: What would the title of your autobiography be?
“Pull the Trigger”. I need to stop spinning my wheels about so many things in my life. I am getting better. I’ve pulled the trigger a few times recently. And if you’re giggling about the potential for euphamisms here, Punch the Clown instead.
Dessert: What time do you usually go to bed?
Far too late. If I don’t get 7 hours, I’m luggage. And I’ll never learn. But I have a sleeping disorder and many episodes of the brilliant Rescue Me to catch up on. If anyone has a bottle of sleeping pills they’re not using, properly and responsibly dispose of them by sending them directly to me.