I love U2. Not you, U2.

In the 1980's I loved U2. One day, while shoplifting at Turney's, I discovered the cassette of "October" sitting there. On the top of the cassette case. Not in the locked case (I knew where the keys were kept, I stole things there often so it didn't matter). And not even in the big plastic cassette protective theft-proof cases we'd cut with wire-cutters in the hardware department. Hey, I wasn't always the choir boy I am today!

I was hooked. Totally. In fact, I went back and stole "Boy" just get more U2.

But "October" was, in my mind, the most amazing album of the early 80's.

Until "War" came along and "The Refugee" demolished every other alternative rock song in my world. Why "The Refugee" was never played live (and I mean never) blows my mind.

Then "Under A Blood Red Sky" ... best fucking live album of the 80's ... with "40" at the end with the crowd singing along. That's some heavy shit. I actually purchased that on album. Along with War.

Then "The Joshua Tree" opened my eyes to how a popular band could address political issues in a way that got them coverage. In fact, I ghost-wrote a term paper for a kid I graduated with (he paid me) comparing the lives of Jesus and Martin Luther King, Jr., through U2's "Pride (In The Name Of Love)" because it was a great song.

But I thought musically, that album sucked.

It was weak.

I loved the tour, thought they rocked it, but on vinyl, based on that album, I was ready to jump off the U2 fan parade just as everyone else was getting on it.

Especially troubling to me was the recorded versions of "Bad" and "A Sort of Homecoming" ... those songs just flat-out sucked, but live - rocked the house.

Then came their amazing performance at Live Aid.

"Bad" morphed into a 12-minute medley mixing two Lou Reed songs ("Satellite of Love" and "Walk On The Wild Side") with two Rolling Stones tunes ("Ruby Tuesday" and "Sympathy For The Devil"). Unfortunately, the US feed (Mtv) quickly switched from London to Philly for the fucking Beach Boys. Um, yeah. It really happened. Click here for a great breakdown of Mtv's coverage. Talk about your bands not seeing the big picture ... look at who Mtv cut away from, and who they cut into ... that'll give you some perspective on how music was viewed back then. Dinosaurs got all the glory, just for being dinosaurs. If you survived the 60's, you were a god among musicians, and Mtv treated you as such at Live Aid.

But I could spend days talking about what Mtv was, could have been, and turned out to be. Very little of it is good.

But back to U2.

So to capitalize on the success of the band's Live Aid performance, and long before anyone thought of the Internet, YouTube or anything like that, when bootlegs were exchanged on cassette, Island Records tossed out "Wide Awake in America" ... a great 4-song EP that had both of those songs live ("Bad" checking in at 8:02) along with two previously unreleased in America album castoffs "Three Sunrises" and "Love Comes Tumbling" that were b-sides in the UK.

Those versions of "Bad" and "A Sort Of Homecoming" showed what U2 was about, live. And the EP was a success in a market where albums were on their final years of being the big dog.

Then in 1987, "Rattle & Hum" blew the roof off things with some blistering live versions of songs (particularly "Bullet The Blue Sky") mixed with studio stuff and surreptitious stuff pulled from sound checks and bus recordings) that I rode 12 miles in the November snow in Indianapolis on a bicycle to purchase at the Carnation Mall, because the base exchange on Fort Harrison didn't get new releases on the day they were released ... it was usually a week or two later).

Then, as I grew ... and got back into the singer/songwriter phase I was in for most of the 1990's, and still today, I really didn't want to like them anymore. They were old.

Then I heard "Mysterious Ways" and BAM - was right back in the fold. In love, again, with U2.

So as I sit here tonight listening to my 80-song, 6.5 hour iTunes U2 mix, (including the complete "Under A Blood Red Sky" album in one flat-file MP3 with no gaps between songs) I realize that they are an amazing musical act that has been with me for 25 years now.

And haven't left yet.

Yep, it's official. I'm old.

I've spent 25 of my 38 years on this planet with a band now.

And grown with them.

Loved with them.

Hated with them.

Wow.

Treehouse full of Crackers?

Um, really?

Cracker? At the Treehouse?

Friday night (9.29.2006)

With The Whiles?

If that's David Lowery and Cracker ... Fuck me. I'm there.

Fuck me for real.

It is David Lowery. And Cracker. And The Whiles.

And it's sold out.

SOLD OUT? The Treehouse is sold out?

Again, WTF?

I guess I'll have to slum it over at Studio 35 with Two Cow Garage.

Damn, I loves me some Cracker, too.

Song of the Day

Pawn Shop Crystal Ball

Did you hear? They’ll be landing men on the moon
They’ll be crash landing back in the ocean soon
But despite being heroes and earning fame
Lots of kids in the future won’t know their names.

All our TV’s won’t play only black & white
There’ll be color pictures keeping us up all night
And the bands that we love but don’t get to see
Will be played on this thing they call MTV

And I swear that nothing I say is a lie
I’m not smart enough to make it up if I tried

So take a look in my Crystal Ball
Got it off the shelf of my pawn shop wall
I don’t know what I see, but I see it all
When I take a look in my crystal ball

All our music will come on these shiny disks
Don’t make popping noises and rarely skip
You’ll be able to burn them at home, with ease
Filled with lots of free music, called MP3s

And I swear that all I say is true
Come along, I’ll show it all to you

So take a look in my Crystal Ball
Got it off the shelf of my pawn shop wall
I don’t know what I see, but I see it all
When I take a look in my crystal ball

We will all have these cellular telephones
So we can yell at each other when we’re not home
And we’ll all be glued to the Internet
Trying to have sex with people we’ve never met

And I swear I’m not crazy and I’m not cracked
But I’m looking ahead and not turning back..

So take a look in my Crystal Ball
Got it off the shelf of my pawn shop wall
I don’t know what I see, but I see it all
When I take a look in my crystal ball…

---

©2006 Steven Wright-Mark (Holiana Music, ASCAP)

Download from garageband.com

(If that doesn't work, click here, then click the song name in the upper right-hand corner, then click download)

Ug. Feeling ill.

So I woke up with a head cold today.

I hate being sick.

I'm going back to bed.

Great Book about the Music Biz

About 10 years ago I was in Columbus for the East Coast Hockey League's initial tryout camp, held at the Chiller in Dublin (then the only Chiller in Columbus). And I knew a bit about Columbus then, but not enough not to get lost. (And no, I wasn't trying out to play hockey for the ECHL.

I was there reporting on the thing for my own minor-league hockey publication called "Hockey Talk" that I published from 1994-1997. My organized hockey playing days ended in the military. My rec-hockey days ended in 1993 when I had my first knee surgery.)

But yeah, like I still do now, I was trying to get somewhere in Columbus and got lost.

This time, I wound up on Sawmill ... but in Powell. Out where all the new stuff is.

Back then, there was a strip mall and a gas station.

In the strip mall was a mom-and-pop record store.

There I bought a cassette. That I loved. And promptly lost. And forgot all about.

Until about a year ago.

Well, maybe earlier than that, but it stuck in my head. I could remember the cover, but not the name.

I knew it was Jennifer (something).

I searched.

I googled.

I spent hours looking in used stores (yeah, that's torture for a guy like me, eh?)

And then one day, while killing time in some city, I was at a book store, looking for some good
Henry Rollins to read, when I saw this

"Everything I'm Cracked Up To Be - A Rock & Roll Fairy Tale"
by Jen Trynin.

DING DING DING DING DING DING

Jen Trynin. Yeah. That's it. That's the CD I've been looking for. "Cockamamie" was the name.

Yeah. White cover. Blue words.

Wait. This is a book.

She wrote a book? Really? I gotta read that.

Well I grabbed the book, finally, from the library on Monday. And read it Monday night.

Wow.

Now let me back up and say since I finally found her name, I also found her website where I ordered both of her CD's, released in the mid-90's, and forgotten by everyone involved, shortly thereafter. And she gave up the music business, got married, when to college, now has a family.
I'm sure if you she walked down the street, even I wouldn't recognize her.

But you might recognize the quasi-hit she had with "Better Than Nothing" back in 1995.

But not the rest of the story. Because I never knew the story until I read the book.

Wow, again.

It's a must-read for anyone who is, or wants to be, a musician.

As a guy who has friends struggling like hell to make a living playing music, because they're gifted musicians, this book was an amazing eye opener into a side of the business I'd never seen before. And a side I'm sure most fans have never been exposed to. There was serious math to be done just to try to follow the part where she explains exactly what musicians get from a standard contract; from the sale of a CD, how advances are handled, expenses recouped; publishing rights; performance pay; tour support and the endless streams of interviews, radio games and flat out crap that artists have to go through.

Makes me give that much more respect to people who do that.

Think about it. Everyone has their own unique gift - that one thing they do the best.

But how many of us share them with the world? I like to believe, among my gifts, are my writing and photography. I share the writing here, and the photography here. And I've not made a dime from my photography. In fact, I've never even been paid for a picture I've taken since 1992 when I was a newspaper reporter.

But neither my writing nor my photography are what I rely on to pay my bills, either.

But I know people who drive all night, city to city, to play music to people they don't know and may never meet, often times in clubs they'd never be seen in, if they weren't the performer.

Sometimes they get paid. But it's not a lot.

Often times they get screwed. In many ways. And none of them good.

The club is over-booked, underbooked, bands don't show, people don't show. The sound guy sucks. There are no lights, not enough power outlets, not enough space.

Then there's the money, or lack thereof: The 'guarantee' they were promised? "By who?" or "That's not our policy" or "I can't give you that because the place was empty."

The person responsible for counting those who come to the show - lets his friends in free, or undercounts, so the band doesn't get a fair take of the cover charge, if they're getting anything from it at all.

Or they're just flat-out screwed - "Well, the guy who pays bands isn't here. We'll send you a check."

If they're lucky ... and this is in the words of someone I know, "I'm making enough in each city to get to the next gig, so that's good."

That's good? Just making enough to get from one dark, smelly, bad-sounding club to the next to do what you love for hopefully a hundred, but more likely a dozen, people? Night after night?

That's dedication.

And that's why I go to see bands you've never heard of. That's why I have no desires or intentions of trying to sell the photos I take of them, to them, or to anyone else.

They give music to me. On stage.

I give them pictures. Of them. On stage.

As well as my $5 at the door.

So don't bitch about the cover charge ... read this book, and you'll understand.

It's all about the voice

I'm not so sure why I have this hang-up about voices.

No, not the voices in my head. Those voices are comforting. And, oddly enough, almost always in a nice, soft feminine English or Australian accent.

Like the old Jeanie ATMs.

Or Julia Fordham.

I guess my dislike of voices is one of the reasons I don't like talking on the phone.

Or I'm secretly Leonard Shelby.

Either way ... I don't like talking on the phone.

And lately, I've spent a lot of time on the phone in September ... talking to recruiters, HR people, old friends, new friends, etc.

And I've noticed that my interest in the person on the other end is based more and more on the voice of the person speaking.

Not what they're saying, but howthey're saying it.

Foreign accent?

Western European ... good.

Asian ... good.

Australian ... good.

Indian (dot or feather) ... not good.

Southern US or hillbilly ... bad.

Not sure why that is ... I mean, who cares what the voice sounds like, right? The words should be important. The job they're discussing is what matters, right?

But I can't get beyond it.

Like the Seinfeld episode "The Ex-Girlfriend." Marlene. Played by Tracy Kolis. She's hot. But her voice ... ugh. Shrinkage.

Because whether it's love, work, or play, voices are deal breakers for me.

On the same level as my dislike of bad grammar, improper punctuation, and poor spelling.

Weird, eh?

Welcome to my brain.

Song of the Day

Decide Not To Decide
Janine Stoll

From the tip of my tongue
to the tip of my toe
With a single glance from you
anything will go
We own this bar tonight
and we own this whole city
When you own the world
it's hard to think that it's pretty

But war is far off tonight
you're my comrade unarmed
If you see your reflection
I'm sure that I am charmed
Don't write me off my friend
'cause you'll pay twice in the end
And I'm not going home alone tonight

Never was an advocate of rational thinking
I did a lot of stare and think
and stare and think
and stare and think
I'll buy another round
of whatever you are drinking
And decide not to decide
anything at all

Mary is five and she plays with G.I. Joe
Mommy won't find out if she keeps her voice down low
All the other girls have a pink carriage in tow
And little Mary smiles
cause she's the only one who knows

If Billy played with dolls
they'd kick sand in his eyes
And no one would help him,
because a big boy is not supposed to cry
What if I was Mary and you were little Bill
Could we spend the night together hold the interrogator's drill

Never was an advocate of loving and leaving
I guess I'm not strong enough to love and leave
and love and leave
I couldn't live without his voice
or the sound of his breathing
So I learned not to love anyone at all

So maybe I'm tired
and nothing tempts me anymore
Nothing makes me laugh
the way I laughed long before
Or maybe I grew out
of dressing in and dressing up
Or maybe I grew too much
forgot to tell myself to stop

But I never joined the army
so I guess I haven't lost
Somewhere in my childhood
my will to fight got tossed
And you were beaten out
of your bangles and your braids
I guess there's more to learning life
then competing for good grades

Never was an advocate of learning and losing
My memory is weak so I must learn and lose
and learn and lose
This bar is getting crowded
maybe we should go cruising
And learn not to lose any time at all

Take it away
Take it away
The pain
And give me ten fold
This love

I wanna disconnect myself

I wish I knew where the logic switch in my brain was.

There are times I'd like to turn it off.

I'd be more fun that way.

I'd have more fun that way.

But no. Not me. I'm the logical one.

I'm the one who sees only the big picture, and acts accordingly.

For better or for worse.

Without failure.

I guess that's why I know that no matter what the number, how big it is, how powerful it seems, all it takes is multiplying that number by a negative one, and like Emeril says, "BAM" you have that same big number, with the same amount of power, only negative.

Because, in a logical world, one bad apple does spoil the whole damn bunch.

And that's my current problem.

In many things.

I have a ton of good ... whether it's intentions, feelings, thoughts, plans.

And then the big picture shows me that negative. Or potential negative.

And it all falls to pieces.

All the good intentions ... gone. I guess, because I see that real or potential negative and realize that in spite of the good intentions, it'll end up bad, so why bother starting, or, if already in progress, continue?

All the good feelings ... gone. I guess, because I see that real or potential negative and realize that in spite of the good feelings, it'll end up bad, so why bother starting, or, if already in progress, continue?

All the good plans ... yeah, what I said up there. Twice. And again.

So how do I get beyond that? How do I realize that yes, all things have real or potential negative items ... and I should just accept them as part of the package, rather than letting the real or potential negative item(s) become dealbreakers?

How do I learn to allow the good to be good and deal with the bad without it being the end of the good?

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Because this is nothing I can sit down and plan for ... because this all happens in my head.

Which is why I need to find that logic switch.

Because I'm tired of it.

Song of the Day

The Logical Song

~ Supertramp

When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful,
A miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical.
And all the birds in the trees, well they'd be singing so happily,
Joyfully, playfully watching me.
But then they sent me away to teach me how to be sensible,
Logical, responsible, practical.
And they showed me a world where I could be so dependable,
Clinical, intellectual, cynical.

There are times when all the world's asleep,
The questions run too deep
For such a simple man.
Won't you please, please tell me what we've learned
I know it sounds absurd
But please tell me who I am.

Now watch what you say or they'll be calling you a radical,
Liberal, fanatical, criminal.
Won't you sign up your name, we'd like to feel you're
Acceptable, respectable, presentable, a vegtable!

At night, when all the world's asleep,
The questions run so deep
For such a simple man.
Won't you please, please tell me what we've learned
I know it sounds absurd
But please tell me who I am.

Sex messes everything up

WARNING: This contains LOST spoilers.

Don't read any further if you don't want to know what happens in a couple of parts of Season 2 if you haven't watched yet.

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So Hurley falls in love with Libby.

Libby dies.

Anna Lucia uses sex as a weapon to get a weapon ... she has her way with Sawyer after following him during his mango-hunting.

Anna Lucia dies ... shot with the same weapon she stole.

Shannon and Sayid fall in love.

Shannon dies. Killed by Anna Lucia.

And I thought my love life was bad.

See, I'm finding out that it's true what they say - love and sex just fucks everything up.

Yet another reason I'm glad to be abstaining from both.

(I can't believe I'm up, sober, at 2:35 on a Saturday writing a blog about a TV show.

I so need a fucking job.

And some sleep.)

Interview today went well.

Well, the interview today went well ... the two guys who are the main IT support staff were very cool.

And ... there was another guy there interviewing for the same position. Granted, we had separate interviews, but we crossed paths a few times.

His name was Ivan.

He was, seriously, at least 6' 6" tall.

And built like a linebacker.

And glared at me once, to my face, and I'm sure, more than that at the back of my head.

I hope they offer Ivan the job, for a few reasons:

1. I really, really don't want to make that drive every day. And those of you who know me know I love to drive, but I need something interesting to look at. The drive is desolate. Like Milwaukee to St. Louis desolate. I'm not dropping any hints here, but looking at that landscape ... I can guarantee there are bodies out there that will never, ever be found. Ever.

B. It's west. I want to go east. Like Cleveland, Akron, Youngstown, Pittsburgh east. Not west. Not 60 miles north of Dayton and 30 miles from Lima.

III. I'm afraid if I take job, Ivan will hunt me down and kill me. Yeah, he's that big. And intimidating. And he's named Ivan. Nobody named Ivan is passive. Ivan the Terrible, anyone?

d. But if they come in with a stupid offer, I might consider it. The job's not starting until October 2 ... so it's not like it's going to be an immediate thing.

And I have a couple of other interesting positions that I'm being considered for, so it's not like that's my only option at this point.

Oh well, time to get out of this suit (yeah, I said suit, clean up a bit and get my ass in the car to go get my daughter for the weekend.

-E

Gay Midgets in Bathrooms

I was once hit on at a gas station in Beckley, West Virginia.

By a truck driver.

I got nothing against truck drivers. Me ex-father-in-law is a steel hauler. Truck drivers keep America running. Seriously. They bring every item, every bit of food, every thing you buy at every store you shop at and restaurant you eat at was delivered by a truck. So give them some respect on the road.

He was black.

I'm not racist. I refuse to dislike someone for their skin color. Petty hatred ... skin color, religion, sexual preference, political party, upbringing, etc ... that stuff's for amateur haters. If I'm going to hate, I'm going to hate you for a valid reason. I'll get to know you, and find a good reason to hate you.

And a midget.

I not a sizest. I got nothing against anyone, of any height, or weight.

And flamboyantly gay.

I'm not homophobic in the least. I have vacationed in Provincetown, Cape Cod. I support gay marriage.

You are who you are, you love who you love. And love is hard to find, and harder to keep. So if you find it, enjoy it. Revel in it. Respect it.

There, that's my take on life, love and sexuality.

So yeah, I got propositioned in a bathroom in a gas station in Beckley, West Virginia, by a black, gay, truck-driving midget.

True story.

In 2003, on my way home to NW PA where I was living with my then-wife, we stopped off to get gas. I went into the station to pay, get a coffee and go to the bathroom. I walked in the men's room, walked up to the open trough, and realized there was a midget beside me, doing his business.

He looked at me, looked at my dick, looked up at me and said, "I'm the perfect height for your dick if you're interested." All I could think to reply to that was, "Thanks, but I don't think my wife would like that too much."

I finished my business and left.

I went back outside to pump the gas, apparently with the look of a married guy who was just propositioned in a gas station bathroom by a black, homosexual, midget truck driver.

I'm sure it's a very unusual look, because my then-wife rolled down her window, looked at me and asked what was wrong.

I told her what happened.

She didn't believe me until she saw him walk out of the gas station.

And get into his 18-wheeler.

And wink at me.

Needless to say, she had a new favorite party story.

Cleveland people suck at math.

The Cleveland Browns are wearing a patch that has the years 1946-2006 on it. That's because they're celebrating their 60th year in the National Football League.

But let's do the math, shall we?

Cleveland's first season was 1946.
Cleveland's final season was 1995.
Do some subtraction .......... 49 years.

The team then became known as the Baltimore Ravens. And no NFL football was played in Cleveland until Al Lerner bought the rights to the franchise and ...

The team started up again in 1999.
This is the year of our Lord 2006.
Do the addition and you get ... 7 more years.

You see, I took College Math, twice, and passed, both times.

I know, without consulting a calculator, that 49+7=56.

And I took Statistics, and failed, but I know, without consulting a calculator, that 56 does not equal 60.

So WTF is up with the Cleveland Browns celebrating their 60th Anniversary as a franchise?

Obviously, people in Cleveland suck at math, too.

2nd Best Math Joke, Ever.

NEW YORK, NY - A public school teacher was arrested today at John F. Kennedy International Airport as he attempted to board a flight while in possession of a ruler, a protractor, a set square, a slide rule and a calculator.

At a morning press conference, Attorney General Alberto Gonzales said he believes the man is a member of the notorious Al-gebra movement. He did not identify the man, who has been charged by the FBI with carrying weapons of math instruction.

"Al-gebra is a problem for us," Gonzales said. "They who practice it desire solutions by means and extremes, and sometimes go off on tangents in a search of absolute value. They use secret code names like 'x' and 'y' and refer to themselves as 'unknowns', but we have determined they belong to a common denominator of the axis of medieval with coordinates in every country. As the Greek philanderer Isosceles used to say, 'There are three sides to every triangle.'"

When asked to comment on the arrest, President Bush said, "If God had wanted us to have better weapons of math instruction, He would have given us more fingers and toes."

White House aides told reporters they could not recall a more intelligent or profound statement by the president.

---

Here is the other math joke on my blog!

My Dictionary Definition

... and no, dick wasn't the answer.

Eric -- [noun]: A master of storytelling 'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com