I will be laboring on Labor Day.
TODAY FRIDAY THE 31st I shall be doing my regular Self Help Radio gig. From 4:30 to 6pm. On today's show, I will shoot a man.
TOMORROW SATURDAY THE 1st I shall be sitting in on Ear Candy, playing indiepop in a totally not gay way. Saturday from 5 to 7pm. On tomorrow's show, a woman will shoot me.
SUNDAY THE 2nd I shall be sitting in on This Great White North, & my substitute show will feature Canadian New Wave, Postpunk & Power Punk from the late 70's & early 80's. Sunday from 7 to 8:30pm. A Canadian person will not be shot on Sunday's show, because they don't have the gun problems we have in America.
MONDAY THE 3rd LABOR DAY I will be sitting in on the House Call, playing indie musics about drinking, since, besides radio, that's what I'll be doing most during the weekend. Monday from 3:30 - 4:30pm. On this show, I will shoot myself. Not on purpose. I'll be cleaning the gun & it'll just go off.
Streaming live at the times mentioned above CST at koop.org. Archived as soon as possible at selfhelpradio.net.
Listen, & your mind will be changed about gun control!
Friday, August 31, 2007
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Damn Junkies!
Lizabeth writes to me: Gary, you get angry a lot or you pretend to be. What's going on?
She wrote me, by the way, on myspace, which is a store for lovers. She wrote me even though she doesn't want to be my "friend." Or she at the very least didn't send a "friend request." & she wants to know why I'm mad?
It's not well-known but I haven't yet found my voice, &, as such, I am often disarmingly confused. One day I write like Ernest Faulkner, the other like Kurt Barthelme. Then, without knowing it, suddenly Grace Paley dies & I feel sad because I still dream, even though I am currently under half her age, of making out with her every time I read her writing. Damn it! Grace Paley never knew I existed! Someone, please, set me up on a blind date with Lorrie Moore!
Anyway, even though it's more regret & sadness that rule my world, it's true that I am wholly helpless in the face of my obscurity, my lack of talent, my inability to get any better at "deejaying" &, for that matter, life, in such a way that occasionally I feel that the only rational response is blind rage. I'm sure you understand.
Having said that, though, I am never really angry when I write on this blog. All I feel is love. Love & hunger. Love, hunger & some kind of French feeling for which only the Germans have a word. Also I feel nauseous, but mainly that's the way you suck your fingers when you read this. I know, it was sexy when you were nineteen, but everything is sexy when you're nineteen - now it's gross because everyone knows you never wash your hands when you go to the bathroom. Seriously, what would it take? A few seconds? Do you really think bacteria are evolving because of your actions?
Whatever. I'm not angry. I'm just dumb. Get used to it.
She wrote me, by the way, on myspace, which is a store for lovers. She wrote me even though she doesn't want to be my "friend." Or she at the very least didn't send a "friend request." & she wants to know why I'm mad?
It's not well-known but I haven't yet found my voice, &, as such, I am often disarmingly confused. One day I write like Ernest Faulkner, the other like Kurt Barthelme. Then, without knowing it, suddenly Grace Paley dies & I feel sad because I still dream, even though I am currently under half her age, of making out with her every time I read her writing. Damn it! Grace Paley never knew I existed! Someone, please, set me up on a blind date with Lorrie Moore!
Anyway, even though it's more regret & sadness that rule my world, it's true that I am wholly helpless in the face of my obscurity, my lack of talent, my inability to get any better at "deejaying" &, for that matter, life, in such a way that occasionally I feel that the only rational response is blind rage. I'm sure you understand.
Having said that, though, I am never really angry when I write on this blog. All I feel is love. Love & hunger. Love, hunger & some kind of French feeling for which only the Germans have a word. Also I feel nauseous, but mainly that's the way you suck your fingers when you read this. I know, it was sexy when you were nineteen, but everything is sexy when you're nineteen - now it's gross because everyone knows you never wash your hands when you go to the bathroom. Seriously, what would it take? A few seconds? Do you really think bacteria are evolving because of your actions?
Whatever. I'm not angry. I'm just dumb. Get used to it.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Whither Indiepop A To Z # 10?
The demand for chocolate - shall we call it hunger? - goes unabated. We must set out to look for it, arming ourselves inconveniently, knowing there are those whose whole hearts bleed viscous, wormy hate for those of us who truly love the chocolate. They must be stopped &, if possible, utterly destroyed.
Now that we know what we want, we shall seek it. But where could the chocolate be? It is not on the radio, it is not on the TV. It is perhaps under the fingernails or in the pockets of children, but we will not want that chocolate. We want chocolate safely waiting behind wrappers. Alas! The chocolate is enslaved, & it can be bought! Who enslaves the chocolate? Those whose whole hearts bleed viscous, wormy hate!
Hmmm.
It occurs to me that the phrase "those whose whole hearts bleed viscous, wormy hate" could be used to describe a lot of people, including many people I know (you know who you are). What's this? I am getting feedback?!?
In a critique of this piece, which I haven't finished writing yet, neo-Marxist author William Stink asserts that I am trying to equate the "hunger for chocolate" with the working class's need for revolution while the wormy-hearted are obviously the bourgeoise. The exact opposite is being discussed on the famous website, Conservative Douchebag, where people who don't get out much & enjoy masturbating to photoshopped pictures of Dick Cheney finger-banging George W Bush have decided that the chocolate lovers are hungry capitalists waiting for deregulation, while the wormhearts are liberal bloggers. I am sad to say no one's right, since I haven't finished writing this yet. Sorry.
Where was I? Fuck. Have I ever told you how really, really hard it is to plot a story? I had a terrific plot for this all worked out, including a very O. Henryesque twist ending involving the narcotic properties of chocolate, & also a very moving description of heartworm to encourage lazy dog owners to take better care of their pets, but when I started to get reviews of today's blog, I completely forgot how the middle part went.
In a sense, I've confined my undeveloped story & its undeveloped characters to a kind of "literary" limbo. Because now I must go home. & I'm reading now from a blogger named Frog Mouth that my excuses here are actually an attempt to be self-reflexive & "tear down the computer screen" that separates me from my audience. Ha! He doesn't know that I don't have an audience! What a maroon!
Only one long blogger - my mother, writing in her secret blog that no one in the family knows about - has bothered to ask the most important question, which I find touching: What the hell does this have to do with Self Help Radio & indiepop? She has some ideas. If you can find her blog, you'll be mesmerized.
Now that we know what we want, we shall seek it. But where could the chocolate be? It is not on the radio, it is not on the TV. It is perhaps under the fingernails or in the pockets of children, but we will not want that chocolate. We want chocolate safely waiting behind wrappers. Alas! The chocolate is enslaved, & it can be bought! Who enslaves the chocolate? Those whose whole hearts bleed viscous, wormy hate!
Hmmm.
It occurs to me that the phrase "those whose whole hearts bleed viscous, wormy hate" could be used to describe a lot of people, including many people I know (you know who you are). What's this? I am getting feedback?!?
In a critique of this piece, which I haven't finished writing yet, neo-Marxist author William Stink asserts that I am trying to equate the "hunger for chocolate" with the working class's need for revolution while the wormy-hearted are obviously the bourgeoise. The exact opposite is being discussed on the famous website, Conservative Douchebag, where people who don't get out much & enjoy masturbating to photoshopped pictures of Dick Cheney finger-banging George W Bush have decided that the chocolate lovers are hungry capitalists waiting for deregulation, while the wormhearts are liberal bloggers. I am sad to say no one's right, since I haven't finished writing this yet. Sorry.
Where was I? Fuck. Have I ever told you how really, really hard it is to plot a story? I had a terrific plot for this all worked out, including a very O. Henryesque twist ending involving the narcotic properties of chocolate, & also a very moving description of heartworm to encourage lazy dog owners to take better care of their pets, but when I started to get reviews of today's blog, I completely forgot how the middle part went.
In a sense, I've confined my undeveloped story & its undeveloped characters to a kind of "literary" limbo. Because now I must go home. & I'm reading now from a blogger named Frog Mouth that my excuses here are actually an attempt to be self-reflexive & "tear down the computer screen" that separates me from my audience. Ha! He doesn't know that I don't have an audience! What a maroon!
Only one long blogger - my mother, writing in her secret blog that no one in the family knows about - has bothered to ask the most important question, which I find touching: What the hell does this have to do with Self Help Radio & indiepop? She has some ideas. If you can find her blog, you'll be mesmerized.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Preface To Indiepop A To Z # 10 - or is it 10? - how long do I intend to keep this up?
I am swamped like swampland today. I am tired like bald tires today. I am sleepy like a sleepy person today. I am writing like a person who has to write things anyway. Why do I feel that way? I feel that way because I have feelings that are that way.
Or does life truly exist in a lifelike fashion? Can we hope for events that are eventful? Do we want tales that are told? Songs that are sung? Should it be so chancey to take a chance? Do we requires skills if we are to be skillful? Not, you may say, if it's your fears that are making you afraid.
In any case, I am looking forward to planning my radio show this week. I have been mulling over thinking about the "theme," which is a continuation of the Indiepop A To Z which I have been doing every two months, or at least bimonthly, this year. I could say that I want to tell you how good it will be, only I humbly admit I am too modest for such a thing.
As one may attempt to try, while others may fail to lose, surely I am simply starting to begin. If you can't understand it, maybe you can at least make sense of it. Yes? Yeah.
Or does life truly exist in a lifelike fashion? Can we hope for events that are eventful? Do we want tales that are told? Songs that are sung? Should it be so chancey to take a chance? Do we requires skills if we are to be skillful? Not, you may say, if it's your fears that are making you afraid.
In any case, I am looking forward to planning my radio show this week. I have been mulling over thinking about the "theme," which is a continuation of the Indiepop A To Z which I have been doing every two months, or at least bimonthly, this year. I could say that I want to tell you how good it will be, only I humbly admit I am too modest for such a thing.
As one may attempt to try, while others may fail to lose, surely I am simply starting to begin. If you can't understand it, maybe you can at least make sense of it. Yes? Yeah.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Alberto Gonzales Was A Real Fine Lady
My Department Of Justice is a sad Department Of Justice today. It is sad like Iraq, sad like Laura Bush's special naughty place. For our friend Alberto Gonzales, a lovely woman & an accomplished ventriloquist, has left the Department Of Justice because of conflicts with her European tour with Hillary McDuffle. (Also, she's been romantically linked with famous faux lesbian Russkies Tatu, which has made her marriage as sad as Afghanistan, as sad as the man who asked Jenna Bush to wed him.) We here at the Self Help Radio blog, who loved her in the Diane Keaton vehicle "Hollywood Friskies," & who is desperately looking forward to her action-film-genre-slash-obligatory-Quentin-Tarentino-crossover-event, "Obvious Cultural Reference," we must admit we are sad, too. Sad as North Korea, sad as the privates in David Petraeus' tent when he's been on the bottle, working on his September report.
We're almost too sad to mention that our unworthy radio show, known variously as "Self Help Radio," had a show on Friday about the jukebox, & that show is available for listening to in its entirety at selfhelpradio.net. But we know you're going to be sitting at home, like we are, listening to the wonderful mix CD that Alberto Gonzales once made us, which consisted only of "Send In The Clowns" on all twenty-five tracks, with the middle one - track thirteen - a beautiful karaoke version by Alberto herself.
God DAMN she was a real lady.
We're almost too sad to mention that our unworthy radio show, known variously as "Self Help Radio," had a show on Friday about the jukebox, & that show is available for listening to in its entirety at selfhelpradio.net. But we know you're going to be sitting at home, like we are, listening to the wonderful mix CD that Alberto Gonzales once made us, which consisted only of "Send In The Clowns" on all twenty-five tracks, with the middle one - track thirteen - a beautiful karaoke version by Alberto herself.
God DAMN she was a real lady.