Friday Ant Talk

Not speaking of ants, should I go see the Watchmen movie? I probably will, but, really, should I?

None of this has anything to do with Self Help Radio, I know. Which will be new tomorrow afternoon, you well know. Just saying.

I describe the little ants that show up occasionally on my desk at work to remind me I'm a sloppy eater "sugar ants," & I think I heard my sister call them that when I was younger because they would, in fact, get into the sugar, but were smaller & lighter than the weird black-&-red ants that made the giant hillocks outside. But this, Wikipedia tells me, is a sugar ant. They are not on my desk. Thank god.

I googled "ants of Texas" to see what I could see & found this page: Some Problem Invertebrates of Texas. I'm all like, I know those dudes! But it's not about losers I go drinking with, it's about bugs, & the number one is not the tiny ant lingering stupidly around some soda bottle cap I need to throw away, but - you better believe it - the Rasberry Crazy Ant. Please note, not raspberry. They don't like the fruit or make the farty noise.

Aha! The ant I am seeing is called a Pharoah Ant. It doesn't say so on the Wikipedia page I link to there, but this page notes, "Also called 'sugar ants' or 'piss ants,' these are some of the smallest ants, about 1/12 to 1/16 inch long, with light tan to reddish bodies." Piss ants? Luckily for me, "These ants do not sting and usually do not bite." Because I feel them crawling all over me all the damn time.

That's all. Have a good weekend!

Whither Indiepop A To Z # 19?

My greatest fear, or my second-greatest fear, because I'm mainly afraid of bugs, is that I am getting the numbering of this Indiepop A To Z wrong. Not that it matters, of course - as long as I don't repeat myself. & I am not. In fact, I am deep in the Ds, which may sound naughty but only if you can explain to me why that would sound naughty.

What's really naughty, of course, are gargoyles. Don't believe me? Have a look at Satan In The Groin. Just try to avoid the photographer's self-portrait at the very end. It was completely unnecessary.

Where was I? I wasn't anywhere. I was somewhere in the middle of a never-ending attempt to make a gigantic list of oftentimes one-off bands (including bands that aren't technically indiepop but that have something about them that makes me think they're influential to indiepop, or influenced by indiepop, or share some of the same spirit of indiepop, or are just too adorable not to include) with virtually no one helping but me. So of course I leave a lot of stuff out. I also put a lot of stuff in that some folks would disagree with. Yet I continue. This hamster treadmill called Indiepop A To Z.

Big names this show include Depeche Mode, Devo & the Divine Comedy. I know you probably don't think two out of three of them are indiepop. Well, nyah. Make your own list. (twee.net has, & I use that, along with my record collection, as the base of my own list.) Make your own podcast! Make your own bed & sleep in it!

But do listen this week. Lists are great. Alphabetical lists are awesome. Alphabetical lists that are pretending to be comprehensive rule.

Preface To Indiepop A To Z # 19: What Would Piet Mondrian Do?

If you're one of the eager listeners who has already consumed last week's Self Help Radio - the one about "generations" - you're not only a member of the Self Help Radio Generation (or Gen-Help!), but you might have noticed how the hungover host, whose name is me, was a little nonplussed at the show's end about the theme of the next week's show. The host (me, remember) said, with something authority, "It'll be about south by south west. I'm sure of it!"

Well, it won't be. Sorry. SXSW '09 happens in like two weeks or something. I'll give my recommendations for bands & shows in the next show, next week. This week, I'm continuing with the indiepop a to zs, which I had planned for the next week, the week of SXSW. Now that week will have something else. Oh my achin' noggin!

Why did I make sure a mistake? Is it all that cough syrup I keep freebasing? I hope not! What would I do without my Robitussin high?

Is it old age? Did I have a "senior moment"? What if I just feel a little sophomoric? Or am I being too fresh, man? Watch, it junior! Puns are for geeks & loners!

It is not my inability to stop misusing over-the-counter drugs, nor is it my impending descent into early-onset Alzheimer's. It's something more inane: I have trouble reading a calendar. There! I said! Thirty days has September, blah-dee-blah, what? Hunh? Take pity on me! The days of the week merge into one, the weeks of the year melt into two, the months of the year blur into four, all the way up to millenia cubed! It's not my fault! Some people are dyslexic. I am calendarlexic. & that bodes ill for planned shows.

But I just smoked some Nyquil, so I'll be able to handle the pressure of this week's show.

Contraceptive Education On A Sunday Morning

Imagine! The scandal! The information! The Hollywood!

As the co-creator & line producer for the hit new religious/fantasy (okay, the words mean the same thing) show, "Contraceptive Education On A Sunday Morning," I am pleased that our pilot episode, "Surgical Solutions For Contraception," struck such a chord with the usually devout church-going Sunday morning sex education crowd. Already, the death threats are pouring in. For example, one Adam C of Pflugerville writes daintily: "You will burn in HELL you SATANIC FAGOT!" He also included a self-addressed stamped envelope for a copy of the show's transcript, which he hopes he can burn in the soonest bonfire his congregation can organize, which should be any day now, since football season is over.

We here at "Contraceptive Education On A Sunday Morning" are proud to announce, barely moments after the first series was cancelled, to creating & filming as we speak a spin-off called "Teenagers! Have Sex Without All The Fuss Of Marriage & Commitment!", a new weekly series airing around the same time everyone in church is either extremely bored or seething with limitless rage. We intend to have "Teen Profligate" clubs in high schools as soon as possible, which will include great tee shirts to counter those of the abstinence-only clubs. In fact, we hope to have shirts that says stuff like "Why Be A Pussy & Wait To Get Some Pussy?" No sexists or homophobes we! We plan for an girl/male homosexual version that says "Why Be A Dick & Wait To Get Some Dick?" It is our great hope that organizations like True Love Waits will engage in friendly rivalries with the Teen Profligates but in case it all goes south, we're also teaching self-defense classes & issuing all members an unlicensed firearm.

So much work to do, & none of it has anything to do with this week's Self Help Radio, which was all about the generations. It shall ring forth through the generations, as well, but for right now, those of the greatest current generation can listen to it at selfhelpradio.net.

It has nothing to do with sex education. I don't know why you thought that.

Your Thursday Treat At The Ass End Of Friday

Now, normally you get your Friday treat on Saturday with the week's Self Help Radio (which of course will drop sometime tomorrow afternoon & which will be all about every generation ever). & normally, a Thursday treat comes on a Thursday. But today I am forced to give you a Thursday treat on a Friday, defying all conventions of polite society & insulting all that is sacred & respectful to those who hold common courtesy dear.

Luckily, it's a good treat. There's a well-respected show on KVRX called The Afro Boogaloo Soul Revue which happened this week to be guest-hosted by my sometime therapist & all-time carpentry helper, Dick Dickenbock. He's proud of the show, which he managed to do despite having taken too many tylenol day-caplets & forced to sit next to a tall kid named Jason the entire time, so he asked if I could put it up for his mother & the rest of the world to hear. I did.

It's around the corner at selfhelpradio.net. Dick Dickenbock says, "You're welcome."

God I hate him sometimes.

Another Special Thursday Treat!

...delayed!

That's right! I had a terrific Thursday Treat (tm) for your sweet tooth (even the sweet tooth in your mind) - but only conceptually! It will take a little bit of time before it's actually prepared. It's like I invited you over for cake, but you got here at the right time only I just had a big bowl full of dough. & while I'm pretty sure you'd just eat the dough (& get salmonella), I can't afford to waste a few hours in the emergency room with you today.

I also can't afford to waste a few hours to (completing my metaphor) make your cake. Sorry! But it would have been a surprise, wouldn't it? You weren't expecting it, were you? Then why do I feel like apologizing? Because - I know you like cake.

I'll have it for you tomorrow. Just in time for the dentist on Monday. Okay, that metaphor has gone too far. Let me rephrase:

I'll have it for you tomorrow. Just in time for the therapist on Monday.

That's better!

Whither Generations?

No, I don't mean Star Trek: Generations. I would never do a radio show about that movie. The lighting on the main deck is so damn dark!

By the way, the IMDb score for that movie is 6.4. That's the same score for The Phantom Menace. Imagine! & Star Wars fans think that Star Trek fans are delusional!

Luckily, they now have to contend with Battlestar Galactica fans. Until the new Star Trek movie. Damn!

As for generations, look. We were once all part of the Pepsi Generation. Before that, I think we were part of the Coffee Generation. Now that we've finished Generations X, Y, XY, YY & Z, we need to take some stock. We need to add more letters to the alphabet. May I suggest dek, el, & doh? No one is using them for their little twelvetoes, so why can't we add them to the alphabet so we can have three more generations?

I know, we may not have many more generations, not at the rate you're drinking whiskey. Not at the speed you're driving. But isn't it just the way? The minute someone comes along, someone called Self Help Radio, & he or she or it (or she-it) decides to name & number & celebrate & commemorate the "generations" that came before, generations stop being generated. It makes me worry, you know, about all those reproducers out there. Did they save their receipts?

It's bad planning all around, frankly. Let's make sure it's badly executed!

Preface To Generations: Spontaneous!

From this page: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spontaneous_generation:

Spontaneous generation is an obsolete theory regarding the origin of life from inanimate matter, which held that this process was a commonplace & everyday occurrence. The theory was synthesized by Aristotle; it held sway for two millennia. It is generally accepted to have been ultimately disproven in the 19th Century by the experiments of Louis Pasteur, expanding upon the experiments of other scientists before him. Ultimately, it was succeeded by germ theory & cell theory.

The disproof of ongoing spontaneous generation is no longer controversial, now that the life cycles of maggots & other pests have been well documented. However, the question of abiogenesis, how living things originally arose from non-living material, remains relevant today.

The show this week has nothing to do with this kind of generation, unless someone is planning on calling a group of people born around the same time in the same cultural milieu the "spontaneous generation," which they probably shouldn't.

Instead, I am reminded of a story about a kid who went to my elementary school named Chuck who remained forever infamous (until he disappeared some time in the fifth grade) because he happened to be called "Chuck" when we as second graders had discovered the word "upchuck," a euphemism for vomiting that would later be superseded by the Valley Girl/Simpsons-approved "hurl." Anyway, whenever our teacher Mrs Chumley would say the word "up," those of us too precious for our own good would say, as fast as possible, "chuck." Chumley shut us down after about five minutes of this nonsense, but the boy Chuck showed up around the same time, so we took to muttering "up" to ourselves whenever she called on Chuck.

Chuck looked like he stepped out of a fifties sitcom, but poorer & dirtier. Even though I was probably equally poor, I wasn't unbelievably dumb & didn't sound like a redneck, which, unfortunately for Chuck, he did, & since I sounded more middle class than he did (& was probably also cleaner), I was spared the sort of ridicule Chuck got.

One day, sitting outside school for some reason, I noticed a dead squirrel in the bushes covered in flies & other bugs, & was doing what kids do, picking at it with a stick, when Chuck walked by, noticed me just staring there, & came to look at what I was looking at, like kids do. In probably the first (& last) words he ever spoke to me, he said, "That's how they're made." I said, "What?" He said, "Bugs. Bugs come from dead things." I said, "Bugs lay eggs." He said, "They do?" I said, "Sure." He said, "I thought dead things died & then bugs came from inside-a them." I said, "I think bugs lay eggs."

So Aristotle was alive & well in Garland, Texas, in 1975. As a side note, I wonder if Chuck has ever had any reason to write or think about that time in his life, let alone some fat kid he once saw poking around a dead squirrel. Probably not.

The Lack Of Sleep Produces Dreamless Monsters

Do I mention you can listen to last week's Self Help Radio, which is about hospitals & also about ninety minutes long, in the regular place? Did I mention it's mandatory? Oh, & it's not a substitute for real treatment. Jesus, see your doctor already.

Should I mention I'll be subbing for the show the Afro Boogaloo Soul Revue tonight on 91.7 fm KVRX? I've been told it's a good Christian show with plenty of family values. That's a good fit for me, I believe.

Can I make a bunch of excuses for the lameness of the upcoming posts, & also say that the uninspired nature of the ones that precede this have also been affected by whatever I choose to blame on them? Will you ever forgive me? What did I ever do to you? As you get older, you get more scary. Not necessary more ugly or anything silly like that, but definitely more scary.

Ought I continue along in this manner? It's a little too precious, or insulting, or ignorant, isn't it. I completely concur. Also I disagree. This is what you get from me? Cancel your subscription! Just don't walk away mad. My love.

Buh

This blog isn't much, & it's not even the only blog I have, but I hate that I've been neglecting it. I'm just very busy. Do you want to know WHY I am so busy? Because I have been designated by the Planet's Corporate Overlords to officially Pay Attention to the Dying American Culture. Can you imagine how long that takes? I can barely keep up with my dogs when they're telling me all about their day (apparently there are at least fifty different ways to nap) - now I have to keep a little notebook (which keeps getting filled up, which I then have to feed to the Evil Troll that guards the Magic Treasure at the Center of the World - remind me to tell you about that dipshit some day) documenting the things that indicate that America - & really, Western - culture is on its last legs. I mean, why couldn't I just be in charge of the reality television division? But no, it's all of it. Books, movies, music, television, blogs, facebook posts, myspace drivel, cheese shop flyers, messages sent by traffic lights into schizophrenics, all of it. I am documenting the Decline of Our Way Of Life.

Between that & work, I don't hardly have any time to write in this blog. I'm sorry.

I still have a little time to do Self Help Radio. There's a new one tomorrow. It's another indication of the sorry state of our culture, I know. I have to write it in the notebook.

Whither Hospitals?

I'm sure there are a billion good reasons why I wanted to do a show about hospitals, but of course no reason that would land me in a hospital, which I (thankfully) haven't visited in many years now, I believe it was an ER visit in erm perhaps 2003. I'm sure however that I have hospital visits in my future (don't we all) even if it's the last place I end up because of an accident. But none of that is important until Saturday when I put the show together. Because right now, I have something special for youse at selfhelpradio.net!

That's right, it's Luxuriator on Local Live! But none of those links lead to the show (which also features an interview with the band done by ME), only this one. So go listen & enjoy the flourishing of smart & independent music in Austin!

Or I swear to god I'll put you in the hospital!

Preface To Hospitals: I Spent The Day In A Hospital In College Station

It's true. But it wasn't a human hospital. It was an animal hospital. Or an animal clinic. It had an emergency room. Does it make it a hospital if it has an emergency room? It had doctors. Oh, oh! & it had a dentist! That's why we were there!

Oh, & it's "we" because it was Magda & me. & three dogs. Our three dogs. Not just three dogs we picked up at the 290/21 intersection. We didn't have room for them. Plus, I thought they looked kind of shifty.

Anyway, our youngest (mine & Magda's), he's a dwarf beagle, & there's something I'm not smart enough to understand about dwarf beagle teeth (or, truth be told, normal beagle teeth) (though of course no beagle is normal, am I right?) so we needed to take him to the special dentists at Texas A&M.

That's why we were there. He got his teeth cleaned at a dog hospital.

I bought a book about spelling & read it in the dog hospital lobby. Then drove home in the misty rain.

Valentine's Autopsy

Lieutenant, the manufactured holiday went smoothly this year. Less romance, because of less presents, because of less money. Pornography was reported to have been watched in staggering numbers, mainly with rue but also perhaps with regret. Flowers bought reportedly died much sooner than in previous years, although alcohol consumption enabled many to dispute the fact. Singles bars, online dating sites, & church socials on the date all filed reports about a thin, slightly acrid-smelling layer of membrane-like goo which covered everything, from participants to party favors. We sent samples to the lab. We should be hearing from them shortly.

One strange thing, your honor, which I hesitate to bring before the court - well, this thing called Self Help Radio. While not a suspect, Mr. Help Radio apparently has an obsession with the manufactured holiday which has manifested itself in producing obscure "radio shows" about the subject on or about the day of the manufactured holiday every year for roughly six years now. Recommend cursory listening to "Valentine's Day" show of 02142009 (subject "boyfriends") in order to assess possible involvement in manufactured holiday. Please advise.

Also, Sarge, we got you this box of chocolates & a dozen tea roses. The department's consensus is that we love you.

A Valentine's Geegaw

Because I love you, please visit the Self Help Radio Website tomorrow for a special Self Help Radio show & Self Help Radio Extra mix - the show will be nothing but a continuous blast of music for about ninety minutes featuring nothing but songs about boyfriends. No annoying Gary blathering, just lots of songs about loving your boyfriend, hating your boyfriend, wanting a boyfriend, not wanting a boyfriend, your boyfriend cheating on you, you cheating on your boyfriend - all for Valentine's Day. What luck! What fun!

I hope to have it up for you first thing tomorrow, but you know, the best laid plans of the worst laid men... Or how does that go?

So even if you don't have a valentine - & I can't anymore, because I'm married - you can have a Valentine's Day show from Self Help Radio. Yay! It'll be like chocolate, only without all the teeth-rotting.

Whither Boyfriends?

Because it's Valentine's Day & I have to do a show about SOMETHING.

That's the straightest answer you'll ever get out of me. & yeah, what the hell, we'll do girlfriends next year.

That kinda came out the wrong way. You knew what I meant.

Damn.

Preface To Valentine's Day 2009: Boyfriend No More!

If I am no longer a boyfriend can I successfully do a show about boyfriends? No! Because the minute I got married, all the memories of being a boyfriend vanished! Wait, that's not true. Yes! Because all my years of being a boyfriend added up to the experience of being trapped into marriage! Damn, that makes no sense. No! I am boyfriend no more! Yes! I was boyfriend before husband, & lo I could be there again!

But I'll try. I'll try to remember the blissful uncertain unmarried state called "Boyfriendliness." "Boyfriendship." "Significant Otherness." "Significant Otherwise." "Insignificant Otter." Stuff like that.

& it's not so hard, in the end, because there are lots of songs about it. That's helpful. There are many more songs, in fact, about the travails of being a boyfriend than the travails I went through as someone or other's boyfriend. For example, I was never another boy's boyfriend, & I have some songs about that. So. My own experience is useless. It is the songs that speak through the mighty megaphone that is "Self Help Radio." Huzzah!

Still, being a boyfriend isn't all that different from being a husband, except, of course, the chains are a lot heavier. Also, the gruel is less salty. Then there's making the bed. That is the worst. [Voices trails off, spouting ridiculous & embarrassingly sexist oversimplifications.] [So you know what to expect this week.] [Just saying.]

Valley Churl

I'm so busy I feel sleepy all the time. Actually, that's not only true, that's the introductory dialogue for a series of pharmaceutical arias I am composing for the "Drug Opera" I am writing thanks to my grant from Pfizer. Who says art is dead? Pfizer says art is dead!

Where was I? Oh, I spent the weekend down at the ranch in Self Help Radio Valley, population wow. Did my show from there live, actually, to the emus that live next door after they escaped from someone's failed get-rich-quick plan or another's cockeyed scheme. They're very nice but tone deaf. & they don't so much dance as come at you menacingly & steal your cheese fries from your hand. They're not nearly as melancholy as the cattle, though. Those damn Morrissey-worshippers get mad if I play anything peppy. & let's not talk about the goats & their obsession with metal. (That's a pun.)

Anyhoos, you can listen to the show at Self Help Radio Dot Net. You have an official invitation. Also to my ranch in Self Help Radio Valley. If you can find it. & if you bring cheese fries.

Not At Library To Say

By these shackles I wear around my pants, I say to you I SHALL BE FREE!

Sorry, I've been reading a lot of comic books lately. I think I might have also had a dream about Jack Kirby last night. Ah well.

Here are things I'm planning this weekend. I am planning on not getting stabbed. (That's ongoing.) I am planning to finish this week's Self Help Radio by the middle of the day tomorrow, before it gets stabbed. I'll be holding the teleprompter for the freaky Vance Chamberlain for his "The War On Sailing" radio show on KVRX on Sunday morning. I plan to stalk you on Facebook, so really, stop sharing everything. That photo of you with the puke in your hair? It's not cute.

Um. I plan to eat cheese fries with my nephew tonight, then to regret eating those cheese fries because of all the beer & jalapeños I washed the cheese fries down with. I plan to scold my dogs & praise my cats. I plan to read something I'm supposed to read although I probably won't. Somewhere in there, I plan to fall down a flight of stairs just to say I did. Or not, to say I didn't. I also plan at one point to get exasperated & say, "I've only got two hands!" Maybe during a card game? Who knows?

I'm not trying to impress. You got something better? What're you going to do that's so exciting?

Sheesh.

Whither Valleys?

Lee Majors hater step off!

My name is Gary & I spend a good deal of bad time every week working on a podcast which I call Self Help Radio. (Yes, you can listen to it at selfhelpradio.net.) Every week something is something that I something something somethinged. The show stays fresh & new by eating weird fruits & watching exercise shows on demand. One day, it must've been in my sophomore year of college, I realized that what I was most of the time was depressed. At that very moment, somewhere far away, Huey Lewis (of Huey Lewis & The News) took a great big shit that looked & sounded eerily like Billy Joel. On my desk at home, a Stephen R. Donaldson book began to decompose at thirty-three times its natural rate.

Which is not to say y'all can't hate Lee Majors. Y'all just better not be doin' it round here.

Two days after my apparent wedding I was visited by two federal agents designed as evangelicals. It was days before Christmas & I was about to go skeet shooting. The past week's Self Help Radio had had an uncommon theme, if I recall correctly & I don't, whereas the theme the previous week had been all commonalities. These communist Christians were completely unable to sense that my worldview sounded funky while their attempt to add the "personal touch" to proselytizing stank. We became fast friends & even faster enemies - when I grabbed my skeet rifle you should've seen them run! Har har har!

But I wasn't destined for the movies or for horseplay. When my resume came back unopened, I wondered - aloud, yes, but quietly, as if I were in a library or a mongoose cafe - why Barack Obama wouldn't want me in his cabinet, or at his table, or living in the storeroom above his garage. There are many reasons in life for a man to feel his masculinity wasn't manly enough, & time is literally the great emasculator, but at that moment I realized that not only was I destined to live alone for at least the times of my life that I was by myself, but also that a political viewpoint is no substitute for an articulated skeleton.

& as for dear, dear Mr Lee Majors. I'm no fool. I know there are major Lee Majors haters. I went through the same thing in my Caldecott-prize nominated children's stinker called "Having T with Mr T: Reforming Television's Hard-Core Bruiser for the Spongepants Generation." Mr. T haters die a suspicious death. Lee Majors haters live in no fear. That's how great is the kindness & sleepiness of the Lee Majors. Bless him.

& bless us all, everyone!

Preface To Valleys: Lee Majors

Here's what a fellow named Ed Stephan wrote (on the IMDb) was the "plot" of the television series "The Big Valley," which aired in the mid- to late-sixties, & starred one of childhood heroes, Lee Majors: "Victoria Barkley heads her adult brood on the Barkley Ranch in California's San Joaquin Valley, near Stockton, in the 1870s. Heath is the illegitimate son of Victoria's husband Tom (who is dead at the time of the series). Bank robbers, horse thieves, revolutionaries & land grabbers keep the Barkleys hopping." Revolutionaries! I need to see this series again.

I love Lee Majors in the same way I love Mr. T & Evel Knievel, simply for his role in "The Six Million Dollar Man," which left an indelible imprint on me as a kid. Add to it that he played "The Fall Guy," a show that I never understood was supposed to be a comedy (that's how awful it was) & then of course he was married to Farrah Fawcett, who was supposed to be pretty so as a kid I thought she was pretty, well, there you are: a cool hero to my pantheon.

Not only that: his characters always had cool names. On "The Big Valley," he was Heath. (Also, he was a bastard, which I maybe didn't know exactly what that meant, but what the hell, it was fun to say.) On "The Six Million Dollar Man" he was "Colonel Steve Austin." Even on "The Fall Guy," he was "Colt Seavers."

Each of his three major television series - one for the 60's, one for the 70's, one for the 80's - lasted at least one hundred episodes. For "The Six Million Dollar Man" he also did three TV movies. Besides William Shatner (who of course became an icon by playing Captain Kirk & also made Star Trek movies, so he's kinda in a class by himself), is there any other cheesy television action show actor who was as long-lived with three television projects? I can't think of one...

Hooray for Lee Majors! Wow, he's about to turn seventy years old! It was fun to see him on "Weeds" this last season. Maybe someone should tell David Kelley to get him on "Boston Legal." I'll go write a letter now.