885 Greatest Artists (part 2)

August 30, 2006

(Referencing my previous post here. )

Okay, I’ve finally made my decision.  And it’s kindof weird.  I’m not sure I agree with my own decision.   (How in the world can I not agree with myself)

Anyway, as I am not personally ranking all 885 greatest artists.  I am going to vote for those bands which I am the biggest fan of.  So, while I might think that the Rolling Stones are better than Jimmy Buffett, talent-wise, career-wise, impact-wise.  I’ve decided to rather be an advocate for those bands which I claim my strongest ties to as an enjoyer of music.

So with that in mind, here is my new, adapted, altered, and disclaimered list of my top 10 artists:

1.  Bruce Springsteen

2.  Southern Culture on the Skids

3.  Richard Thompson

4.  Joe Satriani

5.  Garbage 

6.  Buddy Guy
7.  Brian Setzer

8.  Jimmy Buffett

9.  Meat Loaf

10.  Little Feat

Honorable Mention: Tower of Power, Prince, Stevie Wonder, Billy Joel, Paul Simon, Sheryl Crow, Marvin Gaye, Sarah McLaughlan, Pink Floyd, Marah


A multitude of miscellaneous machinations

April 14, 2006

Fun with alliteration, come on, everybody dance now…

So, where are we…

Totally Saturated

More fun with words… Apparently, there’s a decent chance that Michael and I are going to see Joe Satriani at the Starlight Ballroom next week.

Joe F’N Satch!

I don’t know whether to be more impressed that Michael is interested in seeing Satch. Or that Michael is organizing something. It’s mostly cause he wanted to see the Funkmaster, George Clinton, a few weeks ago, but called me up on the day of the concert, asking me if I wanted to go. Since being married, my spontaneity show’s itself in different ways that just hopping on board and going to a concert. But, more importantly, Mom was up to go to The Chieftans concert. So if I wanted to see George Clinton, I either had to ditch my mom or invite her. And that’s just too scary of a proposition to contemplate. Taking Mom to Bruce Springsteen was bad enough.


Okay, I hate doing my taxes. I just fucking hate doing my taxes. Now, last year Suze and I paid an obscene (in my estimation) amount to have Jim do our taxes. Like close to $200.00. I’m decent enough at math, and can read forms, so there’s no need to have anyone else do our taxes.

And it’s not even that we’re losing money. We’re getting money back for Christ’s sake. I mean a good amount of money back. But I still hate doing the god damn paperwork. I mean, the IRS people who have to look over these things, just must be soulless. I don’t mean that they’re evil. Just you would have to be soulless to just do the work. I mean toll both collectors would have more of a soul than IRS reviewers. At least the auditors get to kick some ass. And whenever someone messes with them, or threatens them, they can just say, “One more false move, I’ll have you audited from this year all the way back til you babysat your cousins for three bucks an hour and a free pizza. But just the day-to-day, boring, in office IRS workers. Just dead people.

In Morrisville?

Next piece of news…. I was going through pollstar to see what concerts are coming to the area… And here was the line that threw me :

Sat 05/20/06   Blues Traveler   Snipes Farm

Okay, I live in Morrisville, Pennsylvania. So Blues Traveler coming to Morrisville as part of the Wu Li Festival is news enough. That’s the biggest act to hit town, since M Night Shyamalan filmed a scene from Signs at Burns Pharmacy. That would be news enough. But my house backs up to Snipes Farm. Part of my backyard is actually owned by Snipes Farm. I mean, I could literally listen to the concert from my backyard.(Okay I was around last year for this music festival, and all you could hear was a murmur of music. So, it’s not like the stage is near my house. Snipes Farm has to be like 150 acres or something. But still.)

My brain cannot handle this shit anymore.

Easter Parade

So after all of the hooplah, and all of the excitement, and all of the planning, Easter is finally here. We’re having the family over for dinner. Part of the meal includes a recipe for ham that is covered in brown mustard, brown sugar, spiced wafers, and bourbon. And if you think that I derive any pleasure from serving it to my inlaws, who do not consume alcohol, well you either know me too well or don’t know me at all.

All kidding aside, Suzanne gave me the green light for this recipe last year. And we all (her parents included) just loved it. The flavor was amazing. And I even liked it, despite not liking brown mustard that much. Just tremendous stuff.

On top of that we’re serving apple & sausage stuffin muffins (made this last Christmas with a recipe from Rachael Ray, and decided to kick it up a notch by adding sausage), sweet potato casserole, cole slaw, lyonaise carrots & zucchini, pineapple stuffing (from Suze’s mom), Busy-Day Salad, rolls and dessert.

Baby News

Really, not that much news. Just that Suzanne decided this week to tell her brother and sister. She just went to have lunch with her Mom and Sara, so she could tell Sara specially that she’s pregnant. Sara was really cute and just laughed the entire time. Supposedly, she thinks that this will give her a playmate. I think she’s in for a rude awakening on many fronts.

My mother is going nucking futs over this. I told her two weeks ago that she shouldn’t get anything for Suzanne because she’s not a mother yet, and you never know what might happen with miscarriages or problems or whatever. I probably said, “I mean Suze hasn’t really had a complete checkup for this yet, so I mean we don’t want to do anything until her next appointment.”

So, of course in the latest email from my mother, I get the following statement:

Are you still not accepting gifts from anyone, until the end of May?

Ummmmm…. I never said we were excepting gifts at the end of May… Give it some fucking time, why don’t you. Sheesh. I mean, it’s not like the wedding where you set a date and all systems are go, unless you hear otherwise. Suzanne is 35 years old, which is considered these days as a risky pregnancy. Her mother had a history of miscarriages. And in fact, Suzanne was a twin, and the other twin didn’t make it. It is waaaaaaaay early to get anything.



I think there was something else I wanted to talk about in this blog, but I forget. I’ll tag it later if needed.

Peace and Axl Grease


Too much, too little, and too few

May 21, 2004

I really don’t know where to begin….

Let’s start with the obvious. Yesterday, I came home from work and there was a fence up at my house. I bought the house in August of 2001, with the pieces of the fence, that was originally up, scattered around the area.

So, after years of waiting for the lawsuit to be settled, and then lots of signs that everything is going acording to Hoyle, the fence is up.

Let me rephrase. A fence is up. A new fence. A rather pretty fence. But a fence that is missing a feature prominent in the previous version…. a gate.

That’s right, the borough of Morrisville has sealed in the front of my house from the back of my house. Now the only way to get to the front of my house is through the front door.

Okay, no reason to get overly pissed. It probably wasn’t quite kosher to have the gate in the location in the first place. Morrisville probably wants to deter the people from cutting through the back of the apartments, and falling into the ditch.

But still. How am I supposed to bloddy cut my lawn. I’m not bringing my lawnmower through my house just to mow the front yard.


Bastards could screw up a wet dream

The second piece of news is that our good friend, Billy, won’t be able to make it to my bachelor party, as there is some historical reinactment in England he is attending. Tis a shame. I understand that Bill and I aren’t close anymore, but still, it would be nice for him to meet the gang.


In the doofus move of all time. Well, not quite, but a move in which I’m still trying to figure out what happened. This morning I had two things to do before I got to work. Drop off the Matchstick Men DVD to Blockbuster and get a bottle of Gatorade to 7-11. Both in the Morrisville city limits.

So, I’m on Route 1 in New Jersey. Just driving along. I look down at the passenger seat, and there sits the DVD. And right next to it is the bottle of Gatorade that I bought. And if you had asked me prior to that moment, I would have told you that I did indeed drop of the video.

Not that I had the memory in my head of having done so. I clearly didn’t. I would have remembered stopping in front of Blockbuster, getting out of the car, and putting the DVD in the slot. No, I know that I didn’t do that. And I have no memory, real or self-manufactured, of having done so. But I was confident that I had dropped off the video.

My brain is turning to jello.

Well, there has been good news. Brian finally proposed to Kara on Wednesday night. He had told me that he bought the ring previously, and was going to make a scrapbook for Kara and put it at the end. And that’s just what he did. In terms of gimmicks, it’s pretty good, and yet not sappy. Although I was sure that he was going to do it after she got back from Texas.

So, the dumb bastard has gotten engaged. Lucky him. It is a good match, and I’m happy for the two of them.

That’s about it for now.