Category Archives: utter garbage

Robin Gibb

….did not produce this. Maurice did.

The Osmonds rode quite a few waves trying to recapture their glory days. Their albums only hit the Billboard  Top 10 once, and barely. They tried Disco here, and Country later, to a little more success. I’ve always found this fact entertaining, if a little depressing. All that talent, and so artistically bankrupt at the same time.

Robin Gibb put out some of the worst solo stuff imaginable.

Here he is sorta kinda recreating the video motif live. Well, “live”.

Jeff Lynne produced this. More new wave emotionlessness.

I choose to remember Robin Gibb as one third of a songwriting juggernaut that relied, like The Beatles, on a very high standard of songwriting quality control, which recreated itself twice successfully, and that’s twice more than most acts. His voice is/was an acquired taste, but in the context of the Brother act, almost a perfect foil for his more talented older brother, who also crashed and burned outside of the hothouse.




So I made the kids watch “Everything’s Archie” on Netflix. And this was the first episode, wherein Reggie is being a REAL douche. Trying to get people’s attention, trying to manipulate Betty into liking him or some shit, planning stuff behind his “friend”‘s backs. Just endless hooliganism. Passive-aggressive manipulation with an angry, angry scowl. And yet, week after week, there he was, smiling an grooving to the newest song, playing the accompaniment to the latest dance.

So I explained to them that Reggie, even though a grade A …er…meanie….was also a great musician, who played guitar and sang with ease, making the band so much better with his talent. The band, Archie , mainly, had to weigh the benefits of having such a player with having to worry about that skeevy bastard with the indescribable haircut bird-doggin’ his chick(s). So Archie decided that having Reggie on  short leash was better than making him an enemy.

A few seconds of silence, and one of them asks, ” Daddy, who was Reggie in your band?”

Sigh.  It was usually me, kids.

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Farmer’s Market brings back memories of the Winch.

We went to the Farmer’s Market this morning. It was cold and rainy. Bought a Spicy Sausage Quiche (Also my stripper name back in the day. Ironic.)

Brought it home. Dove in. It was delicious.

Then it occurred to me that perhaps the Quiche contained sour cream. The mere thought made me not want any more. I left some for the cats. There’s a good 60% of a Quiche that others may have for lunch.

I can’t eat sour cream, cream cheese, mayonnaise, blue cheese, whipped cream, Ranch dressing, Russian dressing, French dressing or cheesecake. It’s odd, and I don’t know where it comes from. I was thinking that maybe it came from our Winchester initiation ritual. I’ll explain.

When kids graduated 9th grade, they were now going to move on to the senior high school. And everyone knew that this was going to happen. And all summer, at any time, on any day, a small group of provocateurs would organize the other kids in the neighborhood to execute the dreaded initiation. How did it start? Who was responsible? How long had this been happening? Did it happen in other ‘hoods? I didn’t know and I still don’t.I think it might have been just the boys.

When the day came, however, you knew in short order. You were tricked into either a tent or an alley or a garage. One of the ring-leaders would concoct an amalgam of unnatural liquid and solid combinations. Say, mayonnaise, gravy, raw eggs, pickle brine, etc.etc. ahead of time. It would be dumped on your person in a most forceful, unpleasant manner. And that was…it. You would slink off to the nearest hose and wash yourself off and then live another day. I know it happened to me in the tent on the Pulaski property. It was Ron Storrs, his brother Bob, a Koeppel or two. Honestly I think this might have been the deepest they had ever gone into civic planning in their lives. Had they used that initiative to cure cancer or stop country music’s popularity in the early 90’s, this world might whisper their names in a different tone.

But that’s the only reason I can fathom as to why the sight of a mayonnaise jar or a sour cream container makes me wretch.

I wish I could afford therapy.

Who dunnit? Answers.

So let’s see here:


(After meeting you on a blind date) I’ve decided to stay with my boyfriend.

That happened! She was one of these BPO women. We connected via my phone solicitation and the “action” quickly went to my apartment (phone) where we shared many bawdy stories. Very, very bawdy. Needless to say, her boyfriend was on his way out and she and I should get together and do…stuff. When she opened the door to my teeny tiny apartment and saw my silly wardrobe and ill-groomed countenance, her eyes sort of dropped back into her skull like mine would when Scott Norwood missed. We had an awkward drink at some Buffalo bar, she dropped me off, no kiss, no fantasies that we had discussed would be acted out, and three days later (we spoke every day for a week leading up) I called her to give it the old college try…again…but she was going back with her boyfriend. The one that hit her.


I have made a pledge with myself and my god to remain a virgin until I’m married. Even so, I am not attracted to you.

This happened! A devout catholic who’s snark and intellect would seem to be a dream match but that’s just a theory. A great gal. I remember going out on a date with another couple. I was asked to tell the story of how we met. I blabbed on like I was Shakespeare or Gore Vidal. Romance this. Chance that. And on the way home, all happy with myself for being so damned eloquent, she blindsided me with the line above. Does oral count? It doesn’t matter. She tapped my shoulder like I was being shelled by the Yankees.

I have invented a paint that changes color when you look at it, and the government is after me to steal it. Also, I want to remain a virgin. I really like being a virgin.

This happened! Whoa nelly!!! I asked a stunning girl out in 1989 or so. she worked at the Towne Restaraunt in Buffalo. She had a delightful bodice, nerdy glasses, and random braids of random colors. Sweet poppa chongo I loved that gal. Or at least the idea of her. When she said yes to a date I was three feet off the floor and full of flippy floppy!! So we went to dinner and a movie. She sat down a seat from me, which really crushed me. I feel like I wrote this before here. Did I? Well, we went on a couple more dates, each one providing more solid evidence that no, she was not going to prance around in a silk camisole for me, and no, we were not going to act out pages from my own adaptation of the Kama Sutra, and no, I would not be getting a boyfriend discount on souvlaki. The kicker came when she told me about the paint she had invented that changed colors when you looked at it, according to your mood. And the government was out to get it, and her. I swear I told you all this before. Anyhow, even a horny fool knows when to bow out gracelessly.


I must stop seeing you because your dirty apartment reminds me of my mother.

This happened! Dave and I were looking for something to do in Buffalo on a Friday night. And I needed to go to the Wilson Farms next to my apartment for some smokes, so that’s what we did. I made nice conversation with the gal behind the counter, and she agreed to meet us at the Towne. She was a little pedestrian, which is probably why she kept having to avoid cars on the road when they couldn’t see her, but she was also very attractive in that Buffalo girl way. I couldn’t tell you her name. But she dumped me over the phone with the line you see here after spending a few evenings in my apartment.


I cannot date you because I am training for the Olympic Archery team.

When I was working at Ingram, I had a crew that I would go to lunch with on a regular basis. When I was with them, my cocksure ego overrode my normally shriveled self-esteem. Everything I said, it seemed, was funny. Every time a pretty girl was waiting on us, the charm got turned on. And so it was at one of those delightful pizza places on Hertel Ave. I couldn’t tell you what she looked like now, but I thought she was diggin’ my rap. So I asked her out. She gave me her number. I waited the requisite two days and called her. She told me that she was too busy. She was training for the Olympic archery team. Too busy. Sorry. I think I may have called the National Olympic Committee to check if her name was on any roster that they knew of, but the answer they gave escapes me, as did/does common sense.

See, when there’s a barista or a waitress or a service industry worker of any kind, they’re PAID to be friendly. They are friendly because that’s how they make more MONEY. It never occurred to me that her pleasant demeanor and tepid acquiescence to my flirtations were a means by which she would be able to get more cash out of me. How stupid was I?


Your hygiene is terrible.

If anyone ever thought this of me while I was either smooching them, trying to manually close the deal that my other parts could or would not, or getting out of my fast-food wrapper-carpeted Chevy Spectrum smelling of repeated, un-showered layers of Pierre Cardin cologne in the phallus-shaped bottle from my mother for the 5th straight Christmas because once I said it smelled nice, they never said it. So congrats, one person who guessed this.

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Gigs to remember. Gigs to forget. Pt.1.

Slow computer. Whirring fan. Got good news about the music – MTV might (read: is contractually allowed to) use my music for their myriad of youth-related programming. So I heard about that, and not 5 minutes later I see a friend of mine on the FB and ask him about some collaboration in the future. His words were “I dunno. You’re kind of a dick.”  It’s been 13 years and not a phone call? I’d love to know what I did, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about people leaving my life (and lots of people have), it’s that there’s nothing I can do but hand them their hat as they walk out the door. It sucks. I’ll miss the guy.

The worst thing about getting bullied was the fact that I thought I was the only one. But my friends from the high school I attended (even my personal “Fonz”, Rick Angle) have assured me this is not so, and for that, I feel comfort. So thank you everyone.

I have played music in one form or another all my life. So I was thinking about all the various line-ups and styles of music I’ve done (which is not to say I won’t be doing it more in the future) and thought I would list, for you good people, some of my more memorable gigs, good and bad.

1. “Mist” – Northwood Elementary Talent Show – May, 1977

Paul Miller, Jerome Lis, Paul Rinedoller

We had been practicing for 6 months, various songs I knew by ear, but they knew by sheet music. We had messed around with 50’s music, various hits of the days gone by like “Joy To The World” and “I’d Like To Teach The World To Sing”, a severely truncated version of Edgar Winters’ “Frankenstein” which I had never actually heard before. We just played the one riff over and over, amid shouts of “Frankenstein!!”. All the rides and weekly rehearsals, and we finally had ourselves a “gig”.  The Northwood Elementary Talent Show/Concert.  Trial and error had left us with the informed decision to go with the crowd-pleasers:  “Takin’ Care of Business”, “Tonight’s The Night”, and, I think, “Rock’n Me”.

I was scared shitless. My first performance in front of real people, and the memories are sort of fuzzy. I do remember buying a snare drum ON THE WAY to the gig because we didn’t have one. Also, a nice stand for it. Why would I have done that? Was I playing drums? I know I used to play drums for the band.   There was a program, I remember, but I do recall that we were forced to drop “Tonight’s The Night” because some people were offended by it’s lyrical content. We substituted it with…something else. What’s that? You want to hear my very first band’s version of “Bohemian Rhapsody”? This was The Space Riders (1976), the same people as Mist. You want to hear me on drums and obnoxious backing vocals? Ok, you sadistic mo-fo.

The Space Riders – Bohemian Rhapsody

2.  “Second Age” – West Seneca West Junior High – May 1978

Randy Ball, Joe Chemin

The SECOND performance in front of live people, equally as terrifying, with a new cast of characters and again, an auditorium full of people. I spend the whole performance looking at the drummer, who’s admonishments of “Stop looking at me!” were misheard by me as “Look at me some more!!” Instead of the AM radio hits of the day, we played lots of Nugent. Lots and lots. Randy was the only kid I knew with a real Les Paul. He was 13! And amazingly adept at lead guitar. This was my time with the cool kids. Definitely a step up from the people I had played with before, social prestige-wise. I played my old Hait guitar as a bass, with the treble knob turned down. Maybe Randy can chime in with some memories of this show.

3. “The City Victims” – Mercy Fair Lawn Fete (correction needed) – September 1979

Paul Rinedoller, Dan Lewis

This was a great little band with a fairly poor live music history, mostly because we were just happy creating things with each other. When the time came to play live, for the first time in front of a big audience, it was in front of children and nuns.  Without real guidance of any kind from anyone, we blindly “booked” this gig in the hopes that we could rock the South Buffalo unwashed with our uncompromising rhythms and hard-nosed lyrics. There were two things that sort of ruined this illusion as soon as we took the stage.  The first was that our guitar player had become entangled in a life and death struggle with a derelict gang of satanic bees, perhaps attracted to his cheap cologne. Or maybe it was expensive. Whatever the price, there was lots of it.  There’s no need for cologne when you’re 15 and playing for nuns and children. More egregious was the second thing: My new equipment. I had worked all summer trying to earn enough money to pay some of our family’s delinquent utility bills and get the car repaired along with the….eh, I saved for a new guitar and an amplifier (a Fender Twin) with way too much power for me to handle or even understand. That, combined with my freshly oiled (!) Morley Power Wah Fuzz (if someone were to invent a time machine, and let me in it, I would go back and tell the younger me that the difference between “fuzz” and “distortion” is important, and never oil the foot pedal of a Morley Power Wah Fuzz) made the first song so loud and shrill that almost the very first note sent everyone running for the tent.

So in a few short moments we had alienated our audience, and nature.  Our confidence shaken, we went back to the rehearsal space (my bedroom) not to be seen for another 3 years.


The Worst Record Ever Made

This is what I do with my Saturdays.

This record was made by a fellow named Frank Lyndon, who was a replacement for Dion in “Dion and the Belmonts“. If you don’t remember Dion and the Belmonts, I feel sorry for you. If you don’t remember Happy Days or Welcome Back Kotter, I feel sorry for ME.

Anyhow the video on YouTube is labeled “Fonzarelli Slide” but it’s not, although there WAS a record called “Fonzarelli Slide”. This is actually called “Fonzie Meets Kotter’s Sweathogs (At The School Dance)”. The worst record ever made.

Kanye West samples King Crimson. Blog writer chokes on coffee.

This is simply garbage. Why is this moron still in the public eye?

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