Self Help Radio 080917: Control

(It's a control panel, get it?  Original image here.)

Recognize impulsive thoughts.  Place time restrictions on impulsive thoughts.  Try belly breathing.  Find a healthy distraction.  Have a go-to activity.  No, these are not rejected John Darnielle lyrics.  These are the five steps to "build self-control in the moment" from the WikiHow page on self-control & how to get it.  It seems quite helpful, plus there are pictures!

Nothing so helpful appears on this week's Self Help Radio, which if anything is more out of control than normal, which is ironic, of course, but not cool ironic but annoying ironic, which was the name of my high school new wave band, Annoying Ironic.  "Annoying ironic what?" the bass player asked repeatedly before we fired him & used a Casio instead.

There's not much to say.  Maybe the show speaks for itself.  Maybe the show shuts up for itself.  Why don't you ask the show?  It's now at the Self Help Radio website.  (Pay attention to username/password info on the front page please.)  The show is in two distinct but hardly distinctive parts.  The songs & guests in the parts are listed below.

Sadly, it turns out I am easily controlled.

(part one)

"Set The Controls" DJ Me DJ You _Rainbows & Robots_
"I Wanna Lose Control" Gary Wilson _You Think You Really Know Me_
"You're In Control" Greg Horn _Das Funk Ist Verboten_

"We R In Control" Neil Young _Trans_
"I Am Controlled By Your Love" Helene Smith _Eccentric Soul: The Deep City Label_
"The People Who Control Our Lives" George Carlin _When Will Jesus Bring The Pork Chops?_
"Control" Mikal Cronin _MCIII_
"Control" La Sera _Hour Of The Dawn_

Interview with the Rev. Dr. Howard Gently

"I Can't Control Myself (Live)" Buzzcocks _Spiral Scratch EP / Time's Up_
"Complete Control" The Clash _Clash On Broadway_
"Out Of Control" Wayne County & The Electric Chairs _Rock N Roll Cleopatra_
"Uncontrollable Urge" Devo _Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo!_

"Arms Control Poseur" The Fall _Popcorn Double Feature_
"Control Chem Chem" Tania + Juan _Control Chem Chem_

(part two)

"Control Tower" U-Roy _Rasta Ambassador_
"Don't Lose Control" Material _One Down_
"They're Controlling Our Minds" Misty's Big Adventure _Misty's Big Adventure & Their Place In The Solar Hi-Fi System_

Ned Dry reports on inside the SHR control room.

"Totally Out Of Control" Babes _Untitled (Five Tears)_
"Out Of Control" Lush _Blind Spot_
"Remote Control" The Lucksmiths _First Tape_
"No Controles" Stereo Total _Baby Ouh!_

Interview with "Out Of Control" exercise guru CJ Buchanan

"She's Lost Control" Joy Division _Unknown Pleasures_
"Creature Out Of Control" The Dentists _If All The Flies Were One Fly: A Collection Of Rare & Unreleased Dentistry 1984-1995_
"The Dog Who Controls People's Lungs" Masters Of The Hemisphere _I Am Not A Freemdoom_
"Til I Gain Control Again" This Mortal Coil _Blood_

"Control" Ratboys _GN

Whither Control?

(Image from here.)

Aggh!  I have no control over my life!  I meant to write this up like four hours ago to remind you/warn you that Self Help Radio's show about control is on tonight.  Now it's like less than three hours away!  How did things get so out of control?

Aggh!  I can't even control my own damn show!  Guest cancel, records get lost, I trip over something at a Costco because I'm trying to be nice & then I'm stuck in line with an overweight woman in workout clothes right in front of me who refuses to empty her basket to help the cashier so the cashier & the floater have to take the time to empty the shopping cart before they ring things up & I'm sitting there wondering who the fuck is so entitled they stand there like an overstuffed puppet while other people do something they could so very easily have done themselves & have helped those of us in line behind them get through the stupid check-out experience faster!  I'm so glad I didn't lose control there.

Aggh!  The show is on its way!  I'd best get myself under control.  It's on tonight from 9-11pm eastern, 8-10pm central on WLXU in Lexington (93.9 fm) & online at Lexington Community Radio dot org.  Silly guests, tedious airbreaks, great music - the usual.

Preface To Control: Poll Results, Radio Conundrums, & Glen Campbell

There are three things I want to talk about today, if you don't mind.

1) Last week I asked on Twitter & Facebook about which version of the Joy Division song "She's Lost Control" I should play on tomorrow's show.  One person responded on Twitter (my worst poll yet), one person on Facebook, & two of my friends weighed in personally.  The resulting song will be played on tomorrow's show.  But I kinda hope one day more of you will join in!

2) People have accused me of being fond of overly narrow themes, but there are times when I fear that my themes are too general.  For example, while looking for songs for this week's show, I found a lot of songs with the title "Out Of Control," or variations thereof.  It occurred to me that I might actually be able to separate the theme "out of control" from "control" & explore it later.  There would certainly be enough songs.  But I reined myself in.  I decided that I should simply let this one go.  There are a finite number of Self Help Radios in the future & an infinite number of themes.  Best that I recognize that.

3) It saddens me that Glen Campbell has died.  The first song that I ever requested on the radio was "Rhinestone Cowboy," a story I related here.  I will endeavor to find a way to celebrate his life on the show at some point, although I am happy I played him with Bobbie Gentry performing "Little Green Apples" on my apple show earlier this year, a show you can listen to here.

Tonight I played "Wichita Lineman" for my wife.  She probably didn't find the song as lonesome as I do, but she did like it.  It's a marvel.  I can't imagine I'll make anything as wonderful as that in my life.  I am so glad it exists.

Something I Like Also As Well On Tumblr

(This handsome fellow's name is Charlie Schuman.)

You must know I love dogs.  I love cats, too, but right now I'm talking about dogs.  I'd love to have rabbits & pigs & many other kinds of animals in my house but for the moment I am talking about dogs.  I have four dogs myself, & love them more than anything (except maybe my cats, although currently I am just talking about dogs).

There's a sweet Tumblr blog, from which the above picture comes, called The Dogist, which features photos taken by the blog's owners of dogs everywhere they go.  I am amazed at the bravery of the person who asks to take the dog's pictures, although I've been asked before if someone could take my dogs' pictures, & I was flattered, so perhaps it's easier than, say, walking up to a stranger & asking if you could take their picture.

There are also little quotes the owners say about the dogs - anyway, just go have a look if you never have.  It's a delight & sometimes, like this one, it's also a happy story.

Suddenly it occurred to me that there's no equivalent "Catist" (though I haven't really looked) because people don't take their cats around on walks.  But maybe there is, & I haven't found it yet.

Though, let's be fair, it's not like there's a dearth of cat pictures on the internet!

Things That Bother Me But Only A Little # 1: Parentheses In Song Titles

This is, I know, a very, very minor thing.  Please do not think this bothers me more than, say, a hangnail, or someone at a traffic light who, despite dozens of cars behind them, thinks their phone call is more important than actually moving when the light turns green.  But.

One thing that bothers me, but only a little, is how people treat parentheses in songs.

You see, the parentheses are thought to be optional.  So people should call the song "(I'm) Stranded" by the Saints simply "Stranded."  Or the song "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction," which most people call "I Can't Get No Satisfaction," is supposed to just be called "Satisfaction."

Sometimes, it's true, there are songs that have extraneous parenthetical titles, most famously James Brown's "Get Up (I Feel Like Being A) Sex Machine," which no one (not even James Brown, in the single version) called "Get Up Sex Machine."

On the other hand, no postpunk connoisseur calls the Stranglers' song "(Get A) Grip (On Yourself)" "Grip."  They just don't.  It's stupid.

There's a reason I am thinking about this.  The theme of the show this week is "control," so I will definitely play the Joy Division song "She's Lost Control."*  But for some reason - & this is before there was a film called Control, about Joy Division - people began referring to the song as "Control."  Like, one time, I asked a trainee at KOOP who wanted to do a postpunk show what her favorite Joy Division song was, & she said, "Control."  I had never heard the song "She's Lost Control" referred to as "Control."  & that song doesn't even have parentheses!

Were we suddenly allowed to shorten songs to sound-bite length?  I know some songwriters - I'm looking at Morrissey here - that sometimes have songs with titles as long as their lyrics, but does anyone refer to "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out" as "Light"?  Nope.**

So stop.  Don't encourage bullshit songwriters.  If a song has parentheses, just assume all the words are the entire song.  & don't shorten long song titles.  It's dumb & disrespectful.  You think you sound cool but you really sound like a dumbass who doesn't really know the song or the band.

Because that sort of thing bothers me, but really only a little.

* Which version?  You can vote on Twitter!
** Props to Morrissey for never using parentheses.  At least, I can't think of any example.  Wait.  I found one.  "(I'm) The End Of The Family Line."  Well, it wouldn't be Morrissey if he weren't somewhat contrary.

Self Help Radio 080217: Seventeen

(Make a dumb magazine cover for your radio show here.)

An apology may be in order, as I've just discovered that this show is not about element number 17, chlorine.  Many aficionados of the Periodic Table of the Elements are huge fans of that delightful yellow-green gas which remains the second-lightest of the halogens.  They love it for its disinfectant charm (you're welcome, it says to you after you get out of the pool) & its role in the creation of plastics.  So beloved is chlorine that its role in chemical warfare in the early twentieth century is often downplayed as "youthful mistakes" & "gases will be gases."

Naturally, most people would think a show about "seventeen" would be about chlorine.  I most certainly thought that, & had to deal with angry fluorine & bromine fans who wanted to know when their gas would get the Self Help Radio treatment.  Alas, when I turned on the show, I was disheartened to know it was about that abject little number, 17, as well as that depressing age, 17 years.  Not a single song about chlorine!  As one caller asked me, "Are we living in Communist Alabama?!?"

Please forgive this show's blatant disregard of propriety & custom & force yourself to listen to this week's show.  My guess is there are some charms, although none chlorine-related.  The show is at the Self Help Radio website, & can be accessed if you know a username ("SHR") & a password ("selfhelp").  It's in two parts, & what's in each part is noted below.

Understandably, a future radio show about the rare earth elements has become even more vital.

(part one)

"Seventeen" The Ames Brothers _Sweet Seventeen_
"Seventeen" The Sex Pistols _Never Mind The Bollocks Here's The Sex Pistols_
"Seventeen" The Sugargliders _Seventeen_
"17" Loose Change _Shreds, Vol. 2: American Underground '94_

"Seventeen" Love Spit Love _Love Spit Love_
"Seventeen" The Lovelies _The Tuff Of The Tracks_
"Sonnet 17: Who Will Believe My Verse In Time To Come" David Tennant _The Best Of The Sonnets_
"17" Stephen Duffy _I Love My Friends_
"Seventeen" A Giant Dog _Pile_

interview with father of three seventeen-year-olds CJ Buchanan

"Seventeen" Dealership _TV Highway To The Stars_
"Seventeen" Ladytron _Seventeen_
"Seventeen" Youth Lagoon _The Year Of Hibernation_

special dramatic reading of a classic rock song: "edge of seventeen"

"17 Summer" The Guild League _Speak Up_
"Channel # 17" Plus-Tech Squeezebox _Messer Für Frau Müller_

(part two)

"17 Berlin" My Favorite _Love At Absolute Zero_
"All Of Seventeen" The Eames Era _The Second EP_
"Only Seventeen" Beatle-ettes _Girls With Guitars_

interview with alleged seventeen-year-old Allen Shariaty

"It's Two-Thousand Seventeen" Jenny Adkins _It's Two-Thousand Seventeen_
"Just About Seventeen" Jonathan Richman & The Modern Lovers _It's Time For_
"(He's) Seventeen" The Supremes _The Complete Motown Singles, Vol. 2: 1962_
"She's Sexy & 17" Stray Cats _Rant N' Rave With The Stray Cats_
"Club Seventeen" The Trade Winds _New York's A Lonely Town_

interview with the Rev. Dr. Howard Gently

"No. 17" New Bloods _The Secret Life_
"Seventeen Wives" The Limeliters _The Complete RCA Singles Collection_
"Seventeen Seconds" The Cure _Seventeen Seconds_
"Seventeen" Drug Boyfriend _Drug Boyfriend_

"At Seventeen" Janis Ian _Super Hits Of The '70s: Have A Nice Day, Vol. 15_
"The Year I'm 17" Soda Fountain Rag _Sometimes I Wonder If You Have A Heart_
"Passage # 17" The Glass Family _Electric Band_

Whither Seventeen?

(Found this image here.)

When I first thought about doing a show about the number seventeen, I imagined I would have a diverse & oddball pick of songs about seventeen things: seventeen birds, seventeen raindrops, seventeen goodbyes.  I have in fact begun writing those songs in my head - "Seventeen Good-byes" will be a funny & sad tune - but there's no way I will ever have them finished by tonight's show.

Anyway, what I was getting at is this: it turns out that the vast majority of songs I could find were about being seventeen, the age, the years old.  At some point during the show tonight maybe you & I can have an epiphany, figuring out why that's such an important age.  Because right now I'm a little confused about that.

The show airs tonight from 9 to 11 pm eastern, 8 to 10 pm central on 93.9 fm WLXU in Lexington, & online everywhere at LCR online (please choose WLXU).  It would've been fun if I had planned something like only playing seventeen songs, or anything seventeen-based.  But it'll be mainly the same old thing.

Hope you'll listen!

Preface To Seventeen: When I Was Seventeen

(At the top of this page I was going to post a picture of myself at the age of seventeen from my high school yearbook but the yearbooks are in a big box under lots of big boxes in the back of a big closet where spiders also live.  So, maybe next time.)

As a rule, I don't think anyone enjoys their seventeenth year, but I don't remember enjoying my seventeenth year terribly much.  I turned seventeen on January 20, 1985, when I was in eleventh grade - a pretty bleak time for me in a pretty bleak high school experience - & was that age until the middle of my twelfth grade year.

& there were surely lots of dumb adventures I could recount, which I will save (memory willing) for when I recount my life for my 1985 birthday show, which is just in four (!) years.  But there is one thing I want to talk about which I think about now, more than thirty years after I was seventeen.  Which is friendship.

Recently I stumbled onto a Facebook page for the thirtieth reunion of my high school class.  I never cared to go to any of the other reunions, but what was most interesting was the fact that Facebook had a list of folks invited or interested - & I knew virtually none of them.  What a strange realization - that I knew almost nobody in my class at high school!  I mean, at least three or four of the people I liked a lot weren't on the list - I wasn't on the list! - but still, shouldn't I at least recognize three-fourths or two-thirds of the names?  Nope.  I did not.  They were strangers, as they probably were in high school.

From eleventh grade, I have managed to keep two friends in my life, both of whom I talk to regularly even now.  One of them I went to high school with, the other I met outside of my high school in a comic book club.

What is common among both is that I pursued the friendship.  If you were to go back in time & count the number of times I called them versus the number of times they called me (if you were keeping count), you'd find I called them to talk to them many more times than they ever thought to communicate with me.  One of them even told me, probably in my seventeenth year, that I wore them down, I keep calling, after school, & eventually he relented, acquiescing to be my friend.

By the way, both of these people were male.  I had virtually no contact with girls at this age.  What would I talk about?  Why would they talk to me?

The truth is, one of these two has stayed my friend only on the flimsiest of connections.  It pains me in my sad middle age to note this, but he was only my friend as long as I liked the same things he did, agreed with his attitudes about the world, refused to challenge any of his ridiculous ideas.  Once I did, he distanced himself from me.  & what's worse, he rationalized a tremendous betrayal of our friendship by his utter disdain for me at some point in the future.  Not to be a tease, but really, that's another story.

Why do I even talk to this person?  I think it's because I sometimes think I should be a better person than I am.  He & I have very little in common these days, & in fact, he's kind of afraid of me - when we talk, if I disagree with him - something I didn't really do in those early days - he often seems a little fearful, a little timid, as if he's still clinging to a time when he had a sycophant & not a friend.  The number of substantial conversations we've had in the last ten years is so small I am forced to wonder if we ever had any real conversations, if, in fact, when we were young, I just wanted so badly to have a friend that I endured his self-important baloney despite my misgivings.  Because I did love him, & love forgives.  He didn't love me so much as disdain me.  But!  Like me, he had very few friends.  & until he did find friends independently (he often became friends with my friends), he kept me around.

Why in the would do I still talk to him?  That is a good question.  Luckily, we don't talk too much.  & probably, as time goes on, we will talk very little.

By the way, the other friend with whom I was close in my seventeenth years continues to be a friend & appears as often as possible on Self Help Radio as my spiritual mentor the Rev. Dr. Howard Gently.  We've had our rough patches but we're doing all right.  & I am so fucking grateful that we're still friends & he gives so much to my dumb radio show!

One Tired Dude

Why do we need to sleep seven to eight hours a night?  & how can I get a bit of this action?

Seems like these days I am always exhausted, & I know one of the reasons: dog walks.

You're like, "What?  It's exhausting walking the dogs?"

No, it's exhausting because it gets too hot in Texas to walk the dogs during the day when there's a heavy-handed sun in the sky, so one must wake in the mornings when it's as cool as it's going to be that day (usually around 80 degrees, often paired quite sadistically with 90% humidity) to walk them.  Waiting isn't an option.  It's the number one tip on this website, but we intuited it.  If it's coolest just before the sun rises, walk the damn dogs then.

So we're up around 6am each day to walk.  & I like napping but for some reason the post-dog-walk nap doesn't do it for me.  Today I napped through lunch.  I mean, I had lunch later, but that seems a weird thing for me.  Who naps when there could be eating?

This means I'm going to go to sleep now.  I have much work to do on this week's show but it would be nice to get eight hours of sleep tonight.  I don't think I've done that in many, many years.

You know what?  I probably slept a lot more when I was seventeen.  Just sayin'.

One Of Those Legendary "No Content" Days

Here's something I found online:

It's a bear eating from a hummingbird feeder!  The image was entitled "hummingbear.jpg"!

Honestly, I can't do better than that today.

Self Help Radio 072617: The Crooked Show

(Original image here.)

My apologies if this show is a little more ramshackle than most - I was incredibly sleep-deprived when I made it, having had to emergency sub at KNON in Dallas two days in a row.  But it makes a little sense that my brain felt a little crooked while I was doing a crooked show, yes?

Personally I think it all came together quite nicely, & I didn't have to resort to crooked means to make the show work.  But much of it I believe was helped by the nice people who agreed to talk to me: famous author of "The Crooked Man" detective novels, Sir David Fruchter; quite possibly crooked philanthropists Leo & Cassandra Di Crew; & my utterly straight-laced spiritual mentor the Rev. Dr. Howard Gently.  When you make a show with dependable guests as well as good music, it doesn't matter if it's a bit crooked.  In my stupid opinion.

The show can be listened to in any fashion, crooked or no, at the Self Help Radio website.  You will need this info: username SHR, password selfhelp.  Trust me.  The show is in two parts, the songs I played as well as the interviews are noted below.

Now straighten up & fly right!

(part one)

"Crooked Little House" Jimmie Rodgers _At Home With Jimmie Rodgers - An Evening Of Folk Songs_
"The Crooked Line" Elvis Costello _Secret, Profane, & Sugarcane_
"Two Crooked Hearts" Langhorne Slim & The Law _The Way We Move_

"Your Picture's Hanging Crooked On The Wall" Anita O'Day _The Complete Anita O'Day Verve/Clef Sessions_
"Crooked Piece Of Time" John Prine _Bruised Orange_
"Crooked Mile" Minisnap _Bounce Around_
"Crooked" Kristin Hersh _Crooked_

interview with mystery writer Sir David Fruchter

"My Crooked Crown" Her Space Holiday _XOXO Panda & The New Kid Revival_
"Crooked Mile" Peter Case _Full Service No Waiting_
"The Crooked Place" Glass Eye _Hello Young Lovers_
"Crooked Dreams" Masha Qrella _Analogies_

"The Crooked Beat" The Clash _Sandinista!_

(part two)

"Crooked Woman Blues" Barbecue Bob _Complete Recorded Works, Vol. 1: 1927-1928_
"Crooked Woman" Edd Henry _Eccentric Soul: The Big Mack Label_
"Crooked Cigarette" The Reverend Horton Heat _It's Martini Time_

interview with philanthropists Leo & Cassandra Di Crew

"Crooked Lines" The Go-Betweens _Bright Orange Bright Yellow_
"My Crooked Arms" Math & Physics Club _Our Hearts Beat Out Loud_
"The Crooked Man" Joan Gerber _The Story Lady_
"Crooked Paper Clip" Cats On Fire _Dealing In Antiques_
"Crooked Street" Neil Diamond _The Complete Bang Recordings_

interview with the Reverend Doctor Howard Gently

"The Crooked Trail To Holbrook" Slim Critchlow _Cowboy Songs_
"Crooked Dice" Leo Ogletree _Rock & Roll - Original Masters_
"Crooked-Eyed Engineer" Michael J. Sheehy _With These Hands: The Rise & Fall Of Francis Delaney_
"Crooked Road & The Briar" Calexico _Aerocalexico_
"Crooked Man" Eleni Mandell _I Can See The Future_

"Crooked Composure" Tania & Juan _Crooked Composure_
"Kid With Crooked Face" Bob Mould _Beauty & Ruin_

Whither The Crooked Show?

(From a blog about crooked house, here.)

Last night I was on the radio on a different station in a different town from the station on which Self Help Radio airs.  Before the show, I was telling someone at the station about Self Help Radio & its different themes, & she asked, "What do you mean, themes?"  When I explained, she asked for examples.  As usual, my mind drew a blank - once I've done a show, it seems like my brain does a core dump & I can't remember the most recent themes explored.  It's frustrating, but it's understandable - once a show is done, I need to concentrate on the next.  But I did know what this week's show is about, so I said, "This week's show is called the crooked show."

At which point he said, "Like crooked Hillary?"

Oh no! I thought.  Is that the reason the word "crooked" found its way into my brain, making me want to do a radio show about crooked things?

By the way, she said it with a smile - she wasn't supporting the current president or anything - but the power of repetition is striking - when looking for images of crooked things, like the one above, I typed "crooked" into Google image search, & one of the first images was of course Hillary Clinton.  (To be fair, a couple rows down there were pictures of Trump, which might not be what he wanted when he said that word so many times.)

Frankly I can't really say.  I certainly hope not.  But the reasons for each theme are not always so clear.  They never have been.  Something strikes me, I let it germinate, eventually there's either a show or there isn't.  The crooked show made it.  I don't think I'll mention the election or unfounded allegations tonight, but it just might be what got me thinking in the first place.

Anyway, if you want to hear Self Help Radio be more crooked than it's ever been, the show is on tonight from 9-11pm eastern, 8-10pm central, on 93.9 fm WLXU in Lexington & online at the Lexington Community Radio web site, especially if you choose WLXU.  Anyway, I am not a crooked!  Or something like that.

Preface To The Broken Show: On Other Radio

This has been an exhausting few days, radio-wise.

First I was asked to sub a show on Tuesday night/Wednesday morning.  That would be tonight.  It's a jazz show.  I was asked last Thursday.  I started gathering the jazz.

Then I was told it was promised to someone else.  I put away the jazz.

Then the Station Manager of KNON told me he wanted me to do one of the nights; the other sub would do the other.  I dragged the jazz out & listened to jazz almost all weekend long.

Last night as I was falling asleep, I got a call from the Station Manager and the fellow who normally does the show.  The other sub didn't show up!  Could I do it?  I drove the forty-five minutes to Dallas in the middle of the night & jazzed for two hours.  It was not an inspiring set.

This morning I got two calls from the Station Manager.  The first said yes, I should also do the show tonight.  I was ready to marshal all the jazz.  Then another call came & said the other sub misunderstood instructions & wanted to do the show.  I was all right with that - better to find that out now than drive to Dallas & discover it that way!

Meanwhile, yesterday, I was asked if I wanted to sub the show before the jazz show I was then subbing on Wednesday morning.  Six hours on the radio?  Why the hell not?  So I said yes.

Which means I am still subbing a show on a Tuesday evening.  That's tonight, from ten to midnight central time.  So I'd best leave for Dallas now!

But man am I a little confused & a lot sleep-deprived!

Also, I have a lot of jazz that I will have to wait to use at some point later.

Rowlf

(Rowlf & Rufus walk to the car to go to the park, April 2017)

Today I lost a friend.  We weren't close friends, we actually barely knew each other, but as I love every animal I meet, I loved him instantly.  He was my wife's mother's dog, he was a poodle mix named Rowlf, & I guess he was kind of like a brother-in-law.

My wife advised her mother, since she was getting older, that she should get a dog, that it would encourage her to exercise, & on a visit, she accompanied her mother to the shelter to adopt Rufus, the large basset hound up there.  (He's sixteen in that picture.)

My mother-in-law would take Rufus to the dog park, & one day, when it was a little rainy, Rowlf was there, & he & Rufus played.  She didn't see any other people around, & figured that Rowlf was a stray.  Rowlf decided to jump into the car with his newfound friend when it was time them to leave.  You can say quite correctly that Rowlf saved himself.

He was a lovable dog, beset by infirmity from day one: cataracts caused him to go blind when he was still young, & old age robbed him of his hearing.  When I visited last year, he eagerly wanted to play, & would reward my moving around by trying to hump my arm.  Already at that point he had tumors growing on & in him.  Veterinarians advised to keep him happy, he wasn't showing any signs of discomfort.  (Dogs are usually good about not showing signs of discomfort.  They think they're doing us a favor by being brave.)

Some time in the past year, he had a stroke, doctors believed.  He was more puppyish, playing with long-forgotten toys, & prone to wandering, confused about where he was.  When I visited in April, there was no humping, though he was sweet as ever.  & he loved walks.  We took him & Rufus on lots of walks.

Rowlf died today, he was probably fifteen years old, & thanks to the kindness in the heart of my mother-in-law, he doubtless lived a lot longer than fate had in store for the poor-sighted poodle that was probably abandoned at a dog park.  He never told us his story, of course, & he never wanted to, because he had found a home full of love, where he lived a life every dog should be allowed to live.

Myself, I'm just so grateful & glad that I got to know him.

Things About Myself That Somehow Changed & About Which I Am Glad # 2: Cooking

It would be very nice if somehow it was on the record that I always wanted to be a cook.  I loved to eat, it made sense I would love to cook.  I remember as a child having access to one of those 1960s Betty Crocker cookbooks of simple meals & daydreaming about being able to make them.  Alas, my mother was most definitely not a cook - she could make scrambled eggs, stews, & things from packages, & also fry meats, but that was about it.  If a recipe needed a teaspoon, well, there was no teaspoon to be found anywhere in the house.

In eighth grade, I took a Home Economics class, & I liked the chemistry of cooking - I liked following the instructions of a recipe - & although most of what I remember of the class was sitting behind the "popular" boys as they ogled the "popular" girls, I might have found a calling somewhere if my home life had given me opportunities to actually make food.

But we were poor.  Food was either pre-packaged or easy to make.  Macaroni & cheese, hamburger helper, rice-a-roni.  My mother was working much of my childhood, & my older siblings doubtless subsisted on fast food, so many meals came from cans.  Or, when a pizza place opened in the neighborhood, were ordered in.

It wasn't really until college that I had to fend for myself & even then, it was meager & dumb.  I became a vegetarian in the second month of college, & probably was the lamest vegetarian for several years after that.  Macaroni & cheese played a huge part in my life, as did potato chips, & I ate a lot of Ranch Style Beans until, a year later, I discovered there was lard in the beans.  Those are the pitfalls one must accept if one is to live in a meated society.  Yeah, I coined a word!  We live in a supergross meated society.  You carnivorous fucks.

& though I toyed with veganism once or twice or thrice throughout the years, I didn't fully commit until a few years ago*.  The wife & I found ourselves in a very inhospitable place (West Virginia) & deciding to commit to veganism (which I believe is a natural development of those who become vegetarian for ethical reasons), & I realized we would starve to death (or eat some pretty mediocre meals) if I didn't start cooking.

Now, I had cooked before.  It had been novel, girlfriends had said, wow, I didn't know you could cook, etc.  But most of the time I ate out: falafels, tofu, pizza, whatever.  Learning to cook was a heavy thing.

The wife (as the girlfriend) had only a few recipes up her sleeve, & I started small: nachos, a black bean casserole, sweet potato burritos.  But as time went on, I upped my game.  I found recipes online & I bought cookbooks.  I began to enjoy the process.

& never let it be said that I am a great chef.  Here's how I consider myself: like someone in a cover band, who knows he or she will never be a great musician, learning how to play the songs someone else wrote**.  I follow a lot of recipes, I sometimes vary, I sometimes add, but I have never made a recipe from scratch.  I just don't have it in me, nor do I find it something that I want to do.  If that makes any sense.

Did my eighteen year old self think my nearly fifty year old self would take a great of pleasure in cooking?  I don't think so.  Nor did my twenty-eight or thirty-eight year old self.  By the way, when I am alone, I don't take much pleasure in cooking.  Tonight the wife returned from a trip, I cooked for her, & I believe I enjoyed it more than I should've because she was there to enjoy it.

Maybe one day I can cook for you.  That would be fun.

* I should mention that, though I became a vegetarian in September of 1986 as an unloved, barely kissed nerd of 18, nearly everyone since then imagines that the only reason I am a vegan or vegetarian is because of the woman I am dating at the time.  It keeps happening - my wife tells me her colleagues believe I am vegan because she is.

** No disrespect to cover bands.

Self Help Radio 071917: Pencils

(Original image here.)

Pencil fiestas!  Artisanal pencils!  Pencils & paper!  Pencil-necked geeks!  This week's Self Help Radio had them all!

Also, we apologize for all the pencil shavings on the floor.  Someone forgot to clean out the pencil sharpeners.  & for the time being, we have no new pencils, just the little stubby ones that are hard to use because someone just kept sharpening them when they were just fine to use.  Why must pencils make one so anal retentive?

It doesn't matter.  We had a lot of fun, we chewed on a bunch of erasers, we doodled & scribbled while pencils were celebrated around us!

You can enjoy a radio show about pencils now at the Self Help Radio website.  (Hint: username is SHR password is selfhelp.)  There are two parts, each roughly an hour long, & the songs you'll hear on the show are below, as well as the breaks where interview guests go on & on.

What's this?  A number three pencil?!?  Get outta here!

(part one)

"That's What They Put Erasers On Pencils For" The Gems _Chess Rhythm & Roll_
"Pencil Song" Jake Sorgen _Sudden Myth_
"Turn The Pencil Over" Porter Wagoner _Honkytonk Man_

"Pencil Test" Yo La Tengo _Prisoners Of Love (A Smattering Of Scintillating Senescent Songs 1985-2003)_
"The Pencil Broke (& That's All She Wrote)" Lionel Hampton & His Orchestra _The Lionel Hampton Story_
"Pencil Case" The Hidden Cameras _In The NA_
"Pencil Rain" They Might Be Giants _Lincoln_

interview with David Fruchter, putting on the Pencil Fiesta

"Pencil & Paper" Ruth McFadden _The Bert Berns Story: Twist & Shout, Vol. 1 1960-1964_
"My Pencil Won't Write No More" Bo Carter _Raunchy Business: Hot Nuts & Lollypops_
"100 Yellow Pencils" Jad & David Fair _Six Dozen Cookies_
"Pencil Boy" The Richter Scales _We Hate A Capella_

"Pencil Marks On The Wall" Henson Cargill _On The Road: The Mega Years Plus_
"Pencil" Rackett _Don't Try This At Home_

(part two)

"Pencil, Paper, & A Broken Heart" Bill Brock _Tip Top Teeny, Vol. 4_
"Pencils In The Wind" Flight Of The Conchords _Folk The World Tour_
"The Pencil Sharpener" Fishboy _Zipbangboom_

interview with artisanal pencil maker CJ Buchanan

"The Pencil Song" The Diamonds _Four Classic Albums Plus Singles 1955-1961_
"Pencil & A Pad" The Cashews _Small Ponds_
"Pencil Me In" +/- _2002 Teenbeat Sampler_
"Pencil Thin Moustache" A Touch Of Grass _The Creation Of A Band_

interview with spiritual master Rev. Dr. Howard Gently

"Vermillion Pencil" Nits _Omsk_
"Pencil Point" Native Tongue _Yowl_
"Pencil Rot" Stephen Malkmus _Face The Truth_
"Pencil Neck Geek" Fred Blassie _Tales From The Rhino: The Rhino Records Story_

"Pencil Peligroso" Drug Boyfriend _Pencil Peligroso_
"Pencils" Gay Against You _Bogus Totem Summer_

Whither Pencils?

(Image from here.)

Why not pencils, I ask you?  Why not a radio show about writing & drawing implements?  Why not more songs written every day about pens, pencils, paintbrushes?  Even as I type this on a computer keyboard, even as I know my handwriting is now so awful that my cursive is unreadable & my printing at best only slightly less confusing than hieroglyphics, I still ask why not celebrate the best thing we can do with our hands, writing, drawing, doodling, sketching?

But since this show is the vanguard, since we are only just now issuing this call to action, we will have to start with the simple: the humble pencil.  That little wooden tool has been a devoted companion for most of my life, & yet, as I write this, I am ashamed to say I have no pencils on my desk.  Indeed, there are a few pens in a little mug & the only paper is in a drawer in the printer.  What has happened to me?  What has happened to my life?

Today I shall go to some stationary store - not a chain store, not a Max Office or Depot or whatever - & I'll buy some nice pencils & some paper.  I have no letters to write - let's face it, there's something much more satisfying with email - & I have nothing I want to draw.  But to have a desk without paper & pencil?  It makes me feel that I have lost myself along the way.

Tonight's show, a celebration of the pencil, is on from 9-11pm eastern, 8-10 central, on 93.9 fm WLXU in Lexington & online at Lexington Community Radio Online, please choose the WLXU side.  Limited edition copies will be made available after the fact of the show transcribed in pencil.  I wish!

Preface To Pencils: Here's A Sad Story

When I was a kid, I liked to draw.  I have hazy memories of pages & pages of comic book heroes & adventurers I created & started stories about & mostly never finished.  All in pencil.  Even though I read comics religiously, & knew there were things called "inkers," I was never curious enough to say, "What does that mean?  Could I get better at drawing things?  How would I do that?"

It should be noted that, at the time, doodling comics was not something anyone thought was a worthwhile endeavor, except maybe the people doing it, & some admirers, like me.  My siblings didn't care anything about my interests, so there was no encouragement there.  & I, I was probably too shy & self-absorbed to ask anyone for guidance.  It is something I still don't do, & more & more I realize how dumb that is.

& anyway, I don't think I had the skills or the desire to be part of that world.  Because those who did the work I read & loved faced greater hurdles but wanted it, wanted it more than anything else in the world.  Then, as now, I was quite lazy.

But, again, no one in my family thought any of my scribblings were worthwhile.  In fact, one day, in seventh grade, I came home from school & found the closet where I kept my papers, years of them, for elementary school up, in a couple of boxes, I found that closet "straightened up."  My things were gone.  When I asked where they were, I was told they had been thrown away.

Of course I was startled & hurt.  My sister Pat was visiting & I guess she helped my mother do some cleaning.  There were things in that box that I had drawn, that I occasionally returned to, little half-page comics I had made in third & fourth grade which I shared with friends.  How strange & wonderful it would be to see those things again!  But they disintegrated in a city dump so long ago.

Thinking about it, I can't remember if I cried, but I must have.  I was a very tearful boy, a crybaby of the old school.  Years later, in a very damaged state, someone struck me - it's a long story - & I just burst into tears like I was that seventh grader again, who had discovered that nothing was really his, that things he valued were just garbage & clutter to the adults who were supposed to be role models & mentors for his life.  I had learned the arrogant disrespect that the old inherently feel for the young; I had learned that those who know better know very little, especially about those in their care whom they are supposed to be nurturing.

Since that day I have lost so much more, & most of it not written in pencil; the subsequent drawings I guarded fiercely, & the last time I looked at them - it's been over seven years now, since I boxed them up when we moved from West Virginia to Kentucky - many of the pencil marks on those pages have faded.  My first novella - a horribly rushed pastiche of Kurt Vonnegut & comic books that my friend Terri actually read & told me, "It's terrible" before I took it away from her - it's all but illegible now, as I wrote it in pencil, both sides, its awfulness soon to be indecipherable - it was in there, too, & there was a comfort in its presence if not in its reminder of my talentless self.

These are the sad things I think about when I think about pencils.  But is it really sad?

It's Time For An Old Poem

Do you mind?  I have nothing to say, & this was written when I might have believed I had something to say, a little over twenty years ago.  It's called Death Treats.

-----

take the shadows, keep them outside the box, prop your big body between
them & the wet, hard summer night.  i don't have anything to say, really,
about noses, breasts, tongues, ankles, birthmarks, scratches, james joyce
or idaho.  i have nightmares because i want out of all this.

the gun goes in the mouth, points up.  afterwards, my cat eats the brains,
or something.  it could be a punchline of a joke, it could be the end of an
x-files episode, it could be something you forward to your favorite mailing
list.  i can't bear the fact that i have lost everything meaningful to me.

i have forgotten, i don't know how anymore, to communicate, to tell even
people who are or were friends how i am doing.  often i am doing something
so i do not know how i am doing.  the balloon drains slowly of air, i crawl
out of bed, i take the cigarette out of my mouth, i inflate all over again.

so, crybaby, the nothing left tastes like a sore throat, it drains down
your throat like some sinus disorder, it sets in the stomach like a
doctor's appointment, it never goes away.  i daydream about the
mythological stories where everyone changes into something else.  i can
only change into me.

my dusty past in cartons, crates, containers, real love, real connection,
things i think i kept in a folded piece of paper, in a letter from some
authority figure, in photographs, on audio & video cassettes, in locks of
hair, toenails, teeth, empty bottles of medicine, rat bones - where to take
it?

you can't take it with you.  you can't go home again.  you don't know what
you got until you lose it.  you can't teach an old dog new tricks.  you
can't win unless you play.  you can count the cliches like raindrops.  i am
unable to say exactly what i mean.  but i mean it.

Things About Myself That Somehow Changed & About Which I Am Glad # 1: Dog Walks

Will this be a long story?  I hope not.

When I first met the woman I would eventually marry, I had two cats & she had a dog.  I was, as the saying goes, a "cat person."  This is not to say I didn't like dogs - I loved them.  I would pet them, play with them, roll around on the ground with them.  But my lifestyle seemed to be more cat-oriented - cats were more self-sufficient, they didn't seem to need my affection as much, etc.  & so I kinda looked down on "dog people."

Oh man, I used to get so annoyed at the "dog bandana" people in Austin who brought their dogs (fully bandanaed) to pubs & restaurants.  The dogs just seemed miserable.  They'd pant in the heat under the tables while their owners ate & drank & smoked & rarely paid any attention to them.

Then, alas, I started dating a woman with a dog.  It's not fair to call her a "dog person" as she had loved many cats in her past.  But she brought a dog into my catty life.

& yes, she took her fucking dog everywhere.  Not just to restaurants & pubs, no.  She went on long walks with him every damn day, especially to the so-called "green belt" in Zilker Park, where she'd disappear for hours while I was at work.  What was up with that?

She invited me, from time-to-time, usually on the weekends, when I didn't have to work.  (She was a grad student, she had very few responsibilities.*)  I'd want to sleep in, I wouldn't want to escape the crushing Austin heat by waking up too early in the morning & then spend four sweaty hours walking in pseudo-wilderness with bike riders & other dog people.

Not that I didn't occasionally go.  When we adopted a second dog, Ringo, & a third dog, Winston, I did find the time to make those weekend outings, but I confess I was always unimpressed by the unstructured nature of the walks, by what seemed to me to be a waste of time disguised as exercise.

Eventually, we moved from Texas, & ended up in West Virginia, then Kentucky.  & around that time, something changed.  I wish I could tell you what it was, but I think it had something to do with two things:

1) I became closer to the dogs.  & 

2) I recognized the walks for what they were: bonding time.

After we moved, I stopped working a regular nine to five/eight to five/eight to four/whatever job.  I spent most of my time with my animals, which meant the dogs as well as the cats.  & we - the dogs & I - became close.  So when it came time for walks, fuck yeah I wanted to go.  I liked to be around them.  We were buds.  We loved each other.  Let's go for a motherfucking walk!

At this point in time the wife & I were married, so we would go on the walks & we discovered that we could use this time, this specific time, this specifically demarcated time, to talk about things that were important to us.  It was not uncommon for the wife to come home from work & say, "I have so many things to tell you, leash the kids up."

It's almost a certainty that, by the second year we lived in Lexington, I was a true believer in dog walks.  So much so that now, when the wife is away doing work stuff in far-flung places, I will still drag my lazy ass out of the bed at the early hour of six am - before it gets too fucking hot in Texas - to walk the dogs their average three miles a day.

You heard me!  Three miles!  Three miles of pooping, peeing, dragging, & sweating!

If you were to hang out with me & my future wife in 2003, just two years into our relationship, & you were to say to me, "In less that ten years, you will not only walk the dogs every day with your wife, but you will also enjoy it, & you will do it without her when she is not able," I would have laughed in your face.  It was inconceivable.

Now it is one of my daily joys.  & I am so glad I changed.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

* Boy, would she get mad at that joke.