A Ray of Sunshine

One fine day I decided to move to Italy. Once I had secured a paying gig over there in the land of Michelangelo and gelato, I knew I had to start saving the scratch bigtime. I decided that in addition to working full time at the gear shop, I had to secure a weekend part time gig that would pad the bank account.

But what to do? Where would I fit in? Here I was, working 40 hours a week with a staff 90% male, a staff that was comprised of peeps that like myself, lived and breathed the dirty rawk.

So what did I end up doing part time?

Selling makeup and beauty products. Yes. Working alongside the kind of females that defined the term girlie-girl. The shop was also located in the snooty part of town, Toronto's answer to Rodeo Drive. If indeed the Devil wears Prada, he/she definitely shopped in this area when spending time in the Great White North.

So here I was working seven days a week, living a double life that soon screamed, "Identity Crisis"! You try selling a Boss Metal Zone pedal to a rank smelling guy named Rufus with stains of dubious origin on his Celtic Frost t-shirt and then shifting over to selling matte foundation #3 in ivory to an over perfumed trophy wife who considered shopping a recreational sport. About as easy as playing "Stairway to Heaven" while wearing glamour length Lee Press On Nails. My life soon became "Hairway to Heaven". Overpriced shampoos and conditioners on Saturday and Sunday. Overrated effects pedals that looked cool but offered little sonic versatility on Monday to Friday.

But I did adapt. In fact I soon got a kick out of dealing with such a wide and diverse range of customer profile and personality.

One Saturday at the beauty shop I helped this very cool guy buy some aromatherapy oils. The kind you put in an oil burner and light up. He had an accent and a very dynamic and charismatic way about him. And he was buff. Not extraordinarily tall but solid. Pleasant and well mannered. The kind of dream customer that makes your day.

I rang him up and bid him a great day. I liked the fact that he was a gent into the whole scented oil deal. Real men like aromatherapy. Fact.

After he had left, my manager came over and asked, "You know who that was don't you?"

I laughed and said, "The man who got away". I think I sighed for effect.

She grinned and identified the hot guy, who had with his oil fetish, slippity-slipped through my fingers.

"Darth Maul".

Yep. The Maulster. Ray Park. He was in town filming X-Men. Was apparently a regular customer who normally came in during the week days to secure his hit of fragrance.

Aha! Suddenly the beauty gig had redeemed itself.

For all you Canadians out there, I just would like to say I sold some big bottles of body wash to Tie Domi, retired enforcer and fighting machine for the Toronto Maple Leafs. He had big scars running through both of his eyebrows and he bought, what I thought was the perfect scent for him.



Oceanus. Oce-ANUS.

Just kidding, Tie...

currently listening to: Archer Prewitt, White Sky

Darth Maul and the Women Who Love Him

Many gear slutz feel Star Wars love. A schematic of the Millennium Falcon can inspire as many a tech boner as a schematic mapping out the inner gizzards of say, a Theremin (an crazy electronic box with oscillators and antennae played by moving hands around to control the volume and pitch, yada yada look it up yada yada it's wicked yada yada).

So therefore it is essential to mention on this blog, the 30th anniversary of Star Wars' first theatrical release on May 25, 1977.

Yeah, yeah, I'm four whole days late on this but cut me some slack, I am after all, a card carrying Gen-X slacker baby who not only contributed to the raised profile of procrastination; but defended it on the basis that it contained the prefix pro, so therefore there had to be something positive about it.

Yep. I'm definitely PRO procrastination. I'll read "The Hobbit" when I get around to it.
Yep. I'm definitely PRO castration. If John Bobbitt hadn't had his mishap, would the straight to video magic that is "Frankenpenis" ever have been made?

Hobbits and Bobbit...Jokin' with Tolkien, it never gets old. Have you seen "The Lord of the Cockrings"?

Actually Star Wars has proven to be pornish in it's own special way. Check out this actual Lucasfilm dialogue:
*Luke, at that speed do you think you'll be able to pull out in time?
*You're all clear, kid! Now lets blow this thing and get outta here!
*Pull out Wedge, you can't do any more good back there!

Like most sensible people I absolutely love Star Wars, and Empire. Jedi? Good, but not great. Don't get me started on the other three. The one amazing thing about Phantom Menace was Darth Maul. Chicks dig on the Maul. I used to think I was totally alone in my girl hardon for Maul. Wrong. If you see the internet as a big rack of professional looking three piece business suits, you will find that with some time and effort you can rustle around and explore all the pockets only to discover all the badass weirdness that hides deep within 'em.

Finding The Darth Maul Estrogen Brigade 2 (one was not enough apparently) was like discovering a roll of five flavor Lifesavers in the bottom of a jacket pocket with all the pineapple ones removed. Yesssss!

It's all Maul. Girlstyle. They wonder how Maul would sound having an orgasm. I personally think that Maul has a Prince Albert piercing but I don't think I'm ready to share that with their class just yet. They also encourage readers to submit their Darth Maul encounters to the site, and many have, telling stories of meeting Ray Park (the actor who in body played the supervillian, some other dude did the voice) at SciFi nerd conventions. I would only go to these things if there were more seminars and workshops on "Filking", which is SciFi Folk Singing. It is an exciting notion indeed to know that there is at this very moment, some dude out there that looks and sings like a young Donovan but is singing about flux capacitors and shit. Dreamy.

I myself did have a Darth Maul encounter. I will save that story for the next post. Although they are loathe to admit it, everyone enjoys a good cliff hanger. Look at the ending of The Empire Strikes Back. Major cliffer there. So I will save my Maul tale 'till tomorrow. My Maul tale ain't a tall tale, it's little and short, but hey, it's mine.

...to be continued, in a blog not far, far away at all.


Darth Maul, Too Sexy for his Starsystem

currently listening to: Meco, Disco Star Wars Theme

Bobby D BD Fashion Friday

Yesterday was Dylan's 66th birthday. The great man was born in 1941. Man, that's hella old. Dag yo, World War II was still raging. Oh, and to put the old factor into even more perspective, in 1941, first base mitts, push button phones and Velcro were all invented. Oh, and the first programmable calculator. Of course it was the size of a dictionary and needed two sumo wrestlers to lift it, and a team of 18 wonder nerds just to turn it on. Shit, and I thought the first Atari game console was ancient. Compared to Bob however, those little space invader creatures are as new as Phil Spector's recent realization of "Hey, I may actually be convicted here!". Have fun Phil, plotting out how to make your Wall of Soundproof Glass in the Clink's Visitation Room work for ya.

And Phil, that scary AHHHHHH!!!-fro is gawdawful. Cut your hair along with your losses and just go forth and be someone's little baby in the cooler. Karma will dictate that it will be some huge mutha with arms like cultured hams and no teeth named "Ronnie".

As for Dylan's afro-action...never a misstep. Ever. Even when it was outta control and looked pan-fried it rawked the casbah.



But really, his hair wasn't really an afro proper, just a great, glorious and big 'o mess of unruly curls and swirls. 'Tastic with a capital Fan.

Dylan should get more props for his contribution to style. His rep as a genius musician which is of course well deserved, completely over shadows his knack for the dress up, the dress down, and the dress just right.

Just check out his "Last Waltz Beauty Period". Faye Dunaway just called, Bob, and she wants her '70's glamour and her hat back. Delish.



Lately though I'm starting to worry about the old man. Worried about him musically? Um, no. 2006's "Modern Times" is an award winning masterpiece. Self-produced to boot. A boot of Spanish leather that is.

Style wise, I'm concerned that Bobby D is just one case of rum away from pimpin' a Captain Morgan.




I would be both shaken and stirred if this happened. Rumtini anyone?

currently listening to: Oasis, Definitely Maybe

Turn Up the Smash, Turn Down the Suck

This Les Paul sure lived the good life before its righteous-noble passing on to the great guitar case in the sky.


This Strat definitely went out in style at Monterey in '67. It got humped and pumped and set on fire by some guy named Jimi with an "i" who definitely had an eye for the foxy ladies.

This guitar suffered instantaneous death the second this guy picked it up.


Death was sweet alternative to years spent being fingered by Mr. Marx.

Never has a world tour been so appropriately named.

currently listening to: Tarwater, Spider Smile

I Suddenly Feel Real Sick...

Doc Marten Ad

...to be continued, too angry to write anything extensive. Poor Kurt. Fuck you Courtney if you signed off on this...

Joe Strummer, Sid Vicious and Joey Ramone were all "treated" to similar advertising/marketing treatment for this particular Doc Marten campaign. Those pics are searchable if ya wanna see. I don't want to post them here. Fuckin' shameful.

Actually, I haven't a lot more to say. I'll let the late great Bill Hicks say exactly what I feel. Bill was good like that. Nope, he was GREAT like that. He was hip to the "rebel sell" before some quasi-bohemian with yuppie ambition coined that very term whilst slumming down his brand spanking new "artist's loft". The "slumming down decorating procedure" just means you beat your just purchased print of the Pixies "Surfer Rosa" album cover with a meat tenderizer and throw some vinegar and water on it before you frame and mount it on the wall. That way it will look "dirtay-vintay"(dirty vintage). Let's see how long it takes before that phrase gets around.



BTW, I have many dear friends in the marketing/advertising racket. I love them dearly. My hate on is in no way near Bill's, but I do feel a "Wrath Against the Advertising Con" (my version of "The Wrath of Khan" but with no Ricardo Montalban) that every so often I have to vent out. Vent. Venti. Italian for twenty. Also the fancy name for Starbucks largest coffee size (twenty ounces). There's marketing mindfuck at work. Giving something fairly ordinary and commonplace a fancy name to justify overcharging.

Guess I had more to say after all.

currently listening to: too mad to listen to anything

The Snap! The Crackle! The Pop! The Hiss! The History of Popular Music

Noel Gallagher is a pretty fascinating guy. Instead of going into the studio to try to recreate the magic that was the first two Oasis albums, brother should just stay at home with his Benson & Hedges and write a book called, "The History of Music According to Me". A sort of music from A to Z as told by Noelly G. No ghost writer. No fuckin' editor. No outside interference, just Noel's thoughts and opinions straight from his brain to the written page. The tome would be a massive best seller and Noel could go on on a spoken word/stand up tour a la Henry Rollins and make the kind of folding green his bank account has not built up since he constructed the mighty "Wonderwall". I personally could listen to him speak for hours and love the way he is completely oblivious to the fact that he not only blurs the lines between music and stand up comedy, he continues to decimate them with every interview he gives.

I've read a story that when Noel first moved to London from Manchester he had to either walk or take cabs to get around because he couldn't figure out how to get around via the London Underground. Not only did he "Mind the Gap", he avoided it all together. True enough, when I was in London, I found the task challenging but, it was do-able. I'm sorry Noel, but you figured out how to brilliantly navigate your way around music history enough to steal, use, disguise and pass off as your own many killer riffs that had been already recorded, and yet when it came to workin' the Tube you were a complete boob?

Dumb uni-brower.

I recently stumbled upon a neat-o reworking of the fabled London Underground map, revamped to illustrate the history of popular music; how bands can be grouped and catagorized and how they connect and relate to one another. Each line, or subway route becomes a genre in the map, a map designed by one of those hard working, detail obsessed British music scribes. Not hard to figure why British music rags take a month and a day to read cover to cover, and often contain the sort of elaborate text, that like the amazing photo spreads, are of a quality that make them suitable for framing.



If you would like to download your own cool copy, click here for a P to the D to the F file. Print it off, tack it up somewhere and every day make a point to pick out a band that you haven't heard of before and make your aquaintance in whatever way ya roll. MP3's? Google? YouTube? Discovering new to you music has never been so easy. Easy like a Sunday...yeah, you know.

When one is discussing visual presentation of the history of music, one cannot help but mention the genius that is Peter Frame. He is the master behind all those great Music History Trees, the ones that break down in meticulous detail, the movements and the memberships of popular music groups. Pete's design style has become his trademark, much in the way that guy from Pearl Jam established his style with his distinctive, trademark handwriting. His flair with the free hand font went on to become the official font indentified with the grunge movement. Fontastic!


--Jeff Ament, design/handwriting, Temple of the Dog


--Peter Frame, Collection, Rock Family Trees

They have expanded upon Pete's Trees by creating some great biography programs about bands that Pete has mapped out. The Black Sabbath one is really great. Check it out at: http://www.veoh.com/videos/v491717kmcSKyEz

It's pretty lengthy, but save it for a rainy day, when the lightning is flashing, and the thunder is rolling and you are ready and willing to enslave yourself to the Evil Tritone!

To anyone out there currently in the seed stage of their music career...keep going! Learn and flourish and get your tree growin'! Oh, and if you ever get to a stage where you meet Noel Gallagher, encourage him to get to the Laff Resort STAT. And whatever you do, don't ask him for subway directions.

currently listening to: Stereolab, Cobra and Phases Group Play Voltage in the Milky Night

A Little Sumthun Sumthun with Duds and the BGs

Most people find, when they hear the Bee Gee's classic "Staying Alive", a vision of a slim John Travolta all hot and sweaty with a 103 degree disco fever on a Saturday night, will pop into their heads. Fair enough. Good for them.

I just see Dudley Moore. Gettin' his preeeee-verted groove on.

Watch and bust a move along with Dudley as you enjoy this clip from "Foul Play". The scene is built around a misunderstanding, a plotline tool that when used effectively, can anchor an entire 7 seasons of an otherwise crap TV show. I'm talking to you, Furley! The only props I can give to you is on your classic polyester but made to look like real denim leisure suit.


I loved this stretchy, faux-denim fabric. It should have been crowned the official "Home-Ec. Project" fabric for the '70's. But I digress, back to Duds. From tacky poly blend duds to Duds. What a segue.

In this clip, Goldie Hawn's character is trying to escape a guy who looks like the Glad Man. Or the Man from Glad. Whatevs. She comes to Dudley's character's swingin' batch-pad to hide but dude thinks she is looking for a little sumthun-sumthun.


"Hidden speakers! Quadraphonic!"

In addition to tickling funny bones the world over, Duds also tickled the ivories sumthun wicked. A mean piano player, who displayed his talent most prominently in the flick "10", which in my opinion, on a scale of "one to", is just that.

currently listening to: Cat Power, You are Free