The Firebug of the Bosporus

1.5.2014 

I have had a framed picture of Gomez Addams similar to this image in my bathroom (and of course, now our bathroom) for years.  Ez recently saw it and asked who he is.  I found myself unable to answer the question in any way better than showing him the show, so I showed him.

I'm Father of the Year.

Tonight - The Homestead  (of course)

bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!

Penultimate (REDUX)

1.4.2014

Continued from 1.3.2k2

After a while, my friends and family began to notice my strange new habit. At first they chuckled at its novelty, but when they witnessed my frenzied shoe vacuuming, they stopped laughing.
I hadn’t realized that I was causing such a spectacle that day they found me out, but how could I explain my intra-barhop pit-stop at the Spiffy Auto Wash’s coin-fed car vac? We had just finished off the High Life at one dive and started the two-block trek to another oasis when the cat hair on my shoes lit that fire of obsession in my guts. It so happened that we were right in front of the car wash and I, forgetting myself, sprinted for the high-power vacuums, threw in quarters and luxuriated in the industrial suction. As I “came to,” I crossed the pavement to rejoin my friends and their looks told me volumes: “What the?” and “You’re a freak” and simply, “Dude.” “What,” I said, vainly attempting to deflect their contempt, “I had something on my shoe.” My brother, who scarcely holds anything back, said, “Something’s on your shoe, you scrape it off with a stick. You don’t foot-hump a car vacuum.” “I didn’t foot-hump a car vac,” I said, “there was cat hair on my shoes and I had to get it off.” He looked at me sideways and said, “Cat hair. You’ve got a problem, dude.”
My brother’s brutal honesty that night triggered a dormant no-bullshit-obsessions gene that had taken a back seat to my shoe-vacuuming obsession. I hadn’t realized it, but it had become slightly out of control. It was time to get on that road to recovery, and I knew just how to do it.

To be concluded.

Tonight - 500 Club - (a TNSC favorite for unknown reasons)


bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!

Kelly's

1.3.2014

Hi!

Alan has been abducted by Yankee fans.
He has the only draft of tonight's venue announcement, so yr outta luck, since he's being held under wraps.

If we can secure his release, I'll post it.

Meanwhile:

Tonight - Lone Palm.


bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!

New York's all right ...

1.2.2014

Ez and I used to go for walks around the neighborhood a lot more than we do these days.  I saw something the other day that reminded me of our walks and the little game we played:  When walking down a street, if we'd come upon a leaf-blower in use, we'd turn tail and flee, much like Pacman high-tailing it away from Blinky or Clyde.  It was fun and we changed course often.  More than once we got boxed in and had to eat the survivors, if you know what I mean.

So the other day I saw a leaf-blower in action that would have made us leave the neighborhood entirely.  It was tailgating a gas lawnmower.  The mower had its debris sack detached and it was hitting a yard FULL of downed leaves.  As it plowed through and chewed the dead leaves to bits, the blower man blew the bits out into the street.  And air.  And therefore everything downwind of them.  Which was me, my family, our cars and everything else. 

I yelled, "Fucking assholes!" but they didn't hear me over the din.

Tonight - Club Deluxe.


bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!

Arse in all (REDUX)

1.1.2014

First thing I did this New Year is got drunk. Second thing is I got my blast on. Them two kinda sound like the same thing but in this tale they ain't: I boozed up and shot guns.

Some might not think these the wisest pals to pair up. Hotdogs and mustard, yes. Miller Lites and pistols, no. Bowling and beers, hell yes. Rifles and Coors, er ... no. But damn it all, I did it anyway and actually hit something ... twice.

The best part of the whole experience is that the truck I rode around in that day was one of the strangest, best, most unbelieveable things I have ever seen. On the outside it looked like a normal working pickup completely covered in mud and with its bed full of tools and beercans. On the inside was something out of Snake Pliskin's SUV: floor-to-ceiling guns and ammo. I mean it, I've been in gun stores before but I ain't ever seen this much ordinance. Rifles, shotguns and pistols were everywhere. On the rack, on the floor below the rack, on the seat, on the dash, beneath the seat, beneath the dash, in the glove box, crammed in next to the shifter! Then ther e was the ammo: There were full and half-full boxes of bigfuckin' high caliber rifle shells, slugs, shotgun shells of varying guages and thousands upon thousands of loose bullets and brass. Little, big, pointy, hollow-pointy ... it was awesome. They were everywhere.
The fucking STELLAR dude who owned the truck was drunk, sharpening his chainsaw and listening to AC/DC when we pulled up. My hero.

Tonight -Spec's (aka 12 Adler Museum Cafe

Remember, it's cash only.

Happy New Year to y'all & come out and see our visiting TNSC ambassadors from near and far!

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!