Aww, dammit!

So, I'm working my way through my iPod, putting together a new playlist, and I keep finding more and more artists that I inadvertently deleted a few weeks back. Traveling Willburys, Tom Waits, The Boss, Bob Dylan, Townes Van Zandt, Lenny Kravitz, M. Ward, Violent Femmes, Leadbelly, Pixies... The list goes on and on.

_______________________________________________

I found out today that Jimmy Strader (a local musician) died. He passed on earlier this month. I used to catch him with the rest of The Lifers at 6C on Sunday evenings. No cover and cheap drinks to sit and listen to a sh!t-kickin' little blues band. It was always a great way to wrap up a weekend.

For some reason there never were more than ten or eleven people in that bar, no matter what the line up.

Anyhow, Mr. Strader (the big guy in the middle) will be missed.


Interesting side note: This video was shot while I was at this bar. I had brought a date, and we were just kicking off what ended up being the WORST date I've ever experienced.

Because I Care...

One of your fellow readers mentioned to me that today was her birthday. So the image below is my birthday gift to her. And it truly is a thoughtful gift, since we all get to enjoy it together and discuss the unholy feelings it instills in our souls.

Don't say I never got you anything. Because I got you horrible nightmares.

I have a great (read: lame) story about midget strippers and birthdays, but that tale will have to wait for another post.

Meantime, here's Salami Fever by Pepe Deluxé.

In case you were wondering...

In case you hadn't already picked up a gift for my upcoming birthday (a week from today), you could always snap up this "Cascade" blue Kustom Kombo Organ/Amp from eBay. It is actually pretty severely overpriced (actual value about $900), but when you're spending money on someone you love as much as Krëg, price shouldn't really be an object. Ideally, you would know that I REALLY want the Kombo L-1595 (any color), not the L-1295. But since you waited until the last minute to get me a gift, you'll (and I'll) have to settle for what is available.

SHST is excused, as he timed the arrival of my caption prize winnings to coincide with my birthday. Or close enough anyway. At least, I think he did. It hasn't actually arrived yet, so I may be issuing immunity too soon.

For all the rest of you, just remember the name "Krëg", and don't try to fight the overwhelming compulsion to buy many lavish birthday gifts for him (me).

FYI - I am also accepting gifts in the form of single, attractive, horny, intelligent women aged 24-36. Oops, soon to be 25-37 (my ceiling is always two years older, my floor is ten years younger, and you don't want to hear about my walls).

The Problem...

Go find out what the problem is with young people today.
http://crabbyoldfart.wordpress.com/

Shift + Delete

I move and manage computer files at work on a regular basis. There are often duplicate files, and I regularly modify them and erase the originals. In the course of doing this for multiple years, I have fallen into the habit of using shift+delete. You see, delete all by itself just sends things to the recycle bin, which must be emptied periodically. But shift+delete instantly and permanently eradicates whatever file is selected.

This has never been a problem for me with any of the work-related files that I manage. I am meticulous, and I have developed a system that while boring, greatly reduces my chances of accidentally erasing vital data. So the act of using shift+delete has become a healthy habit for me. Or so I thought.

It turns out that what is sound practice in one area, is folly in another. If perchance you don't own/operate an iPod, let me fill you in on a little secret. Even if a song is listed on a playlist AND your main library (and twenty other places), accidentally using shift+delete instead of regular delete to remove a playlist will also remove all those songs from your iPod. Forever.

And so when organizing one of my favorite old playlists, I instinctively hit the shift+delete combo. It took me about seven seconds to realize what I had done, and by that time a playlist of 400 of my FAVORITE songs had been reduced to 150. I quickly unplugged my iPod from the PC, and followed up that action with yells of displeasure. I even looked into the end of the connector cable, to see if perhaps a few of those deleted songs weren't still stuck in the wires. Then I shook my head and called myself a dumbass.


I plugged in the cans and dialed up the old playlist. It still listed 396 songs, but when I tried to play them, it skipped every other one. Among the casualties were some of my Kings Of Leon b-sides, and The Way It Is by skate punk band Zero Down. I thought about writing down as many as I could as the list of the lost scrolled through one first and final time. But I decided instead to seek out new music to replace the old. Time for a change.


Besides, I can't remember most of the old tracks now anyway, even though I'm fairly certain that a few of them may have actually been original recordings of my songs.


Zero Down - The Way It Is via Battle of the Midwestern Housewives
Kings Of Leon - My Third House via real Horrorshow tunes

What's the worst thing you've ever accidentally deleted?

Fives

My good friend Zakary hit me up to do one of these fill-in-the-whatever survey things. While I am not a fan of the structure or format of such things, they do make for easy filler when there is little else about which to post.

5 years ago: I was chin deep in the worst personal tragedy I have yet to experience.

10 years ago: I had just started working for the company I am still with today.

15 years ago: I was a college Freshman majoring in drinking and partying balls.

20 years ago: I had been back from Florida less than a year, and didn't even play guitar yet. I may have had a mullet.

25 years ago: I was nine (almost ten) years old and I had just finished the third grade.


Five yummy things:
(Easy now Krëg. Don't make some sexist or misogynistic crack about women being yummy. Women aren't "things," and shouldn't be objectified as such. Even the really sexy ones.)
Salmon sashimi (from Fuji)
Chorizo tacos (from Rio Verde)
Me Mum's w/ egg (from The White Lion)
Gyros plate (Jim's Never On Sunday)
Kate Beckinsale

Five songs I know by heart:
Sh!t, only FIVE? I've only been playing guitar for 20 years. I've learned at LEAST nine or ten songs by now. How about: 'Five songs I know by heart that are my favorites of the ones that my band and I played Friday evening and will probably play again tonight'?
Roger Miller - King Of The Road
Felice Brothers - Frankie's Gun
Thao Nguyen & The Get Down Stay Down - Bag Of Hammers
Flaming Lips - Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots Pt. 1
Johnny Cash - Thirteen
And just for a lark, here's Five songs I know by Heart:
Baracuda
Dog And Butterfly
Heartless
All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You
Never

Nancy Wilson is STILL looking ridiculously sexy. She was 20 when I was born.

Five places I would like to escape to: (or 'to which I would like to escape', for all you like-minded grammar nazis. Also, I object to the word 'escape', as it implies that I am a 34-year-old single man who feels horribly trapped in the blissful life that is his bachelor paradise. But whatever.)
Fort Jefferson in the Dry Tortugas
The Grand Tetons
Austin's SXSW festival next spring
To see my good friend Zakary in CO and buy all kinds of fantastic things from her store
Kate Beckinsale

Five things I would never wear:
Tampon
Brassiere
Anything "strap-on"
A condom in Haiti
Briefs

Five favorite TV shows:
Tom & Jerry
Cheers
Simpsons
Top Gear
Austin City Limits

Five things I enjoy doing:
Laughing
Playing musical instruments
Making others laugh
Sleeping
Thinking

Five Favorite toys:
Condenser microphone (phantom power not included)
Accordion
Piano
Hammond
My brand new Telecaster

I'm supposed to tag someone else to do this thing, but I'll spare y'all the fun. Make up your own instead.

Post Jump

Today's post is over at Mindscrapes. They haven't had an update in over a year, and I finally had an odd dream that I actually remember.

Have a good weekend.

No One's Pimp

I am not prone to push upon you good readers any product that I myself wouldn't use. So when I tell you that the music bursting out of Daytrotter is some of the best music I have ever heard in my life, you can rest assured that I have done my homework.

Read their 'About' section to see how they have turned a novel concept into what I envision must be the world's greatest job. Hell, I'd PAY someone to have a job that cool.

Don't recognize any artists listed there? Don't panic, since your good friend Krëg is here to steer you in a righteous direction. Look up J. Tillman's performance from May 8th, and see (hear) how one man and his guitar single-handedly stomp the ever-loving sh!t out of anything you've heard in the last few months.

Although their work is derivative of Lou Reed and/or Eels, Leatherbag's session is also worth a look.
Spoon is always decent.
Thao Nguyen works it.
My band covers a Mountain Goats song, but I'm not familiar with most of the rest of their work.

Hit their archives, and find a new favorite band or two.


Go. Get. Music.

Dump Clog

In lieu of an actual post about an actual subject, I thought I'd clog the interwebs by dumping all the crazy images that were emailed to me by ONE person over the last month. I have received many more images from others, but those may wait until another post. Mind you these are all from the same human.

Sorry in advance about the one with the snake in the toilet.

Enjoy,
Krëg

Photos. Me. Naked. W/ Guitar.

No, seriously. Stark naked.

I am seldom at the cutting edge of anything. I usually find out about anything "cool" or "hip" from friends with their (collective) "ear to the ground" or "finger on the pulse".

But even in light of my trailing-edge tendencies, I'm certain I beat this guy to the punch: And not just by a little bit either. I had that idea over thirty years ago, back when country wasn't even cool.

I just didn't stick with it long enough to be recognized for my genius. Time went by and I began to conform to society's expectations to separate my moments of nudity and guitar playing, and for that I really have no one to blame but myself. Myself and the man. Damn the man, always keeping me down. Down and/or clothed.

Another possible reason I failed where others have succeeded is that then as now, only the creepiest of people are interested in being "fans" of a naked two-year-old.

I was a southpaw when I first started playing

Oh, and if for some reason you failed to experience the seventies, here's two things you might not know:

1) Shag carpet feels AWESOME on your bare ass.
2) The cameras of the seventies weren't much different than the cameras of today. It's just that reality was more orange and yellow back then.


What trend did you invent?

Oh, THAT Alphabet...

Saturday, I went to BuyShit to pick up a CD for my mother for her gift the following day. She has been a Van Morrison fan for almost as long as I've been alive, and is always happy with almost anything he does. As I had been hearing nothing but rave reviews for his 2009 live version of Astral Weeks that he ripped up in the Hollywood Bowl, I thought dear ol' mum would get a kick out of that.

I walked into the retail nightmare of BuyShit and wandered around looking for the music section. I was forced to turn up my iPod TWICE in order to drown out the various crap blaring from different departments, but fortunately for me, the mightiest of their in-store audio propaganda was no match for Jamie Liddell's Hurricane at three-quarters volume. I have defeated yet ANOTHER marketing atrocity! Mwah ha ha ha!

So, after finally locating the dusty corner of the store that still sells those archaic plastic disks called CDs, I started my hunt for mom's gift. Maybe..No. Or it's...No. Behind the..No. I was flipping through disks for about a minute and a half, and beginning to get mildly flummoxed, when a sales associate came rolling up (literally, their EOE policy landed them a gentleman with CP).

"Can I help you find something sir?" he asked.
"Well, yes actually. I'm trying to find the latest Van Morrison album."
"Well sir, I'm fairly certain we'd have that in 'M' section, not the 'V' section. Good luck!" he said as he wheeled off to help someone a bit less stupid.

Oh, and the album DOES kick ass, once you find it.


What's the stupidest thing you've ever done in a retail outlet?

I Am Just A Poor Boy...

So down in the belt post, one of your fellow readers, Le, requested photos showing what eight months of boxing "training" does to the physique. Being the unabashed exhibitionist that I am, it was no mean feat to oblige.

Pictured: bizarre, "unexplainable" white stains on my shirt.
Not pictured: marriage gut.

Although it requires at least two people, the workout is brutally simple:
* Multiple sets of multiple reps on the ab wheel counter balanced by push ups.
* Three minutes of jumping (weighted) rope non-stop.
* Catch your breath while wrapping your hands/wrists.
* One person straps on a set of gloves, after helping the other person into the body armor and mitts.
* Three minutes of punching fury for the person wearing gloves. The person in the mitts and armor calls out the punch combinations, trying to break the will of the person in the gloves by varying the calls in the most excruciating way possible (my personal favorite is the left head jab, left body hook, right uppercut, left head hook, straight right head, straight right body).
* One minute of rest.
* Three minutes of punching.
* One minute rest.
* Three minutes of punching.
* Switch body armor and mitts for gloves and repeat for another eleven minutes.
* Go to local English pub to eat bangers and drink Fullers.

While the punching is most assuredly tiring on the arms and shoulders, wearing the armor and mitts is no picnic either. The armor only mitigates about half of the punching force (and that's why the ab wheel is important), and I actually had a gut bruise the first time I wore it. Holding out the mitts can be brutal as well. If you'd like to get an idea how it feels, stand up and hold your arms out in front of you like a zombie, then bend them at the elbow so your hands are pointed at the ceiling. Hold a soda can in each hand while you do it. Oh, and do it for a total of nine minutes, only taking two short breaks in between. Then try and throw punches for another nine minutes (or vice versa).

Being an uncoordinated goober, it took me about an month and a half to figure out how to throw a punch without falling on my ass, and another two months to figure out how to get power behind my punches. But the nice thing is, even though my form was awful for the first three and a half months, I was actually having fun the very first time I tried it. And it immediately kicked my ass. I can't say the same for most other exercise regimens I've tried.

I've had a few jackass friends ask me if I've considered trying my hand at actual sparring or even full-fledged boxing. Once I stop laughing, I tell them that getting hit in the face and head a few times makes a person a bit uglier, and multiple times a lot uglier. Get hit in the head for years and odds are good you will suffer neurological damage. But just pound the mitts and armor in your buddy's garage, and you might gain some balance while erasing the six-to-eight years of chub that marriage piled on to your midsection.

Additionally, you can (and I did) pick up an ab wheel and jump rope for less than thirty bucks to keep after it on the in between days.


And if I ever need to, I can apparently hit a few rounds on the heavy bags underneath my eyes.

_________________________________________________

Two Old Dudes That Still Kick Ass - The Boxer

All The Chinese I Need

I enjoy many variations of Asian cuisine, including my hometown's single Cantonese & Dim Sum restaurant, and my favorites from the many Thai restaurants, sushi joints, Japanese Teriyaki houses, and even the occasional MSG purveyor.

Invariably, the climax of many of these meals is heralded by the presence of a fortune cookie. These days, the fortune cookie is the ONE food item I will no longer put in my mouth. It irks me that after all the tasty Asian food I've eaten, they hand me a funky cookie that sticks to every exposed tooth surface.

Did the Broccoli Beef stick to my teeth?
No.
The Pad Prik?
No.
The green curry?
No.
The sukiyaki (w/ raw egg, of course)?
No.
Not even the damn sushi STICKY rice sticks to my teeth.

But I eat one tiny fortune cookie and I spend the next half hour using six toothpicks to knock that bastard loose.

So about four years ago I just quit eating them. However, due to my love of reading things and smashing things, coupled with my desire to know what my fortune is, I now just use my fist like a hammer to shatter them to bits (or use more delicate methods when decorum requires) and pluck the fortune from the wreckage.

I sometime find the fortunes themselves to be amusing, and the "...in bed"-suffix game is always fun. Yet I've never been too taken with the 'Learn Chinese' side of the paper. That is until I cracked open two last week (we had an excess due to a catering mistake) and beheld all the Chinese I would ever need to know.
Shanghai here I come.

What's your favorite fortune cookie fortune story?

The Vanishing Man

Dear Belt,

What's the deal? Did you not get the memo? You are supposed to hold my pants up. That's why I bought you. Now, I know you come with a mere five holes, and are only capable of so much, but meet a brother halfway.

When I selected you over all the other belts, it was because you fit the best. Your clasp hit right in the middle, leaving me equal room to grow or shrink.

But lately I've been starting to suspect that you're moonlighting somewhere else. When I hang you in the closet every night you are one length. When I retrieve you the next morning, you seem a bit longer. Are you sneaking out and leading a second life? Do you rush to accident scenes to see if anyone needs to use you as a tourniquet? Are you assisting some swashbuckling actor/actress shimmy up a tree or slide down a cable? Are you helping people pull a Michael Hutchence?

Your third (and middle) hole is now completely ineffectual, and your fourth hole is beginning to slip as well. Be warned that you only have one hole left before I discard you in favor of a smaller and more effective model.

I would just start cutting new holes in you and slicing off your ever-growing end, but according to Dr. Phil, that's really no way to manage a relationship.

Get your shit together or be replaced.

Love,
Krëg

The Lisping Jedi

Just in case anyone was thinking I am NOT a total dork.

Let's hear it for jokes that are only funny once a year!

Oh Yeah

I was supposed to mention that I guest posted at Shindig today. You should go there and read stuff, even though you probably already have.

............................................................

Rejected April Fool's blog pranks:

"I'm quitting the Internet because people here are SO mean!" (like a bitchy teenager)

Translate all my previous entries to Spanish.

Homosexual Leather Erotica themed background.

Something serious and heart-felt.

Disabling the comments section.

Hanna Montana superfan page.

Detailing my recent conversion to Scientology.



What's your favorite April Fool's prank?

Pessimistic Cynic?

Or cynical pessimist?



I don't consider myself to be a negative person.

But as it turns out, I may be one anyway.

I frequently catch myself judging others before getting to know them; judging people based solely on easily observable characteristics. And I'll often assume the worst about someone if they display a trait I consider undesirable. Tattoos visible on your hand or face? Loser. Talking with a thick southern accent about an episode of American Idol? Idiot. Slack-jawed, 300 pound, mu mu wearing woman that looks like if she showered at all, she did it in the bed of a truck rolling through a car wash in fourth gear? Pariah.

My mental judgmental checklist just goes on and on and on and on.

And then, recently, for no discernible reason, I had it out with myself.

"These people are just humans, just like you," my mind told itself. "Nothing more, nothing less. Just people." My brain continued lecturing to itself, "Just like you, they were all born from a mother, and must cope and live in this same world of heartbreak and splendor. You should cut your fellow humans some slack."

"But those people are obviously different from me!" protested negative Krëg (Krëgative). "I'm pretty sure that means they are flawed or evil or retarded or something."
"Right. Shall I run through the lengthy list of the ways YOU are flawed and evil and retarded?"

"Now who's being negative? I thought you were supposed to be some helpful internal monologue of tolerance and reason, not some nagging asshole."
"Quit being a smart ass and listen to yourself (me) for a minute. You need to shut down this judgemental 'holier-than-thou' mentality that's crept into your life as of late. It gains you nothing."

"But don't you think that in some ways my skepticism has protected us? I mean, we (I) haven't made many poor decisions with Mr. Judgmental at the helm. It's not like our friends are crackheads or Libertarians or something. I think my skepticism has put us on the right path."

"There's a difference between being a healthy skeptic and being a horribly negative pessimist. You're (I'm) sliding in the wrong direction. Further, I challenge you to prove any actions put you (me) on the path you're on right now. I'm pretty sure it was just a combination of dumb luck and good timing."

"Hmm."
"And let's not even get into some of your trust issues..."
"Hey! I come by those honestly. You remember when..."

"Yes, of course I do."

"Or that shitty year when..."

"Yes, yes. It's not like we inhabit different skulls, dumb ass. Those two events were pretty brutal. And I'm not saying that you should just start running up to random strangers and giving them hugs and pouring out your soul to them. Just maybe lay off the thinking the heavily pierced guy behind the counter at the gas station is a failure. Chances are, he's better than you at four or five things."

"Like mopping up puke or chain-smoking?"

"There you go again with the smart ass cracks. Look, all I'm saying is that perhaps you should just try observing others without assigning judgment. Because if you don't ease up, you stand a strong chance of dying alone and bitter, with people queuing up to water the non-existent flowers on your grave with warm streams of their own urine. And tell me champ, where does THAT little scenario fit into your judgmental world view?"

"Fuck you."

...And so the struggle continues "silently" inside my head, but I'm hoping the tide is turning in favor of a more optimistic Krëg.

Baby steps.
............................................................................................


Queen's greatest song. Ever.

Chow Down

Much like the rest of the non-starving segment of society, whenever I am not asleep I have always tried to eat foods that I enjoy. On occasion, I have even combined a few of my favorite foods in an attempt to create even tastier super-foods (although baconcicles were a disappointment).

But I still can't imagine the depravity necessary to conceive this abomination.


I recognize the individual components as edible, but when combined in this manner they tally up to some incomprehensible un-food. Nothing there looks appetizing. The photo conjures up the exact opposite hunger. It looks like someone barfed on Abe Lincoln's hat.

Perhaps that is one of the tricks to Weight Watchers: make food look so unappealing that people lose the will to eat.

What's the worst combo you've ever seen?

World Wide WTF

Monday evening, the internet was fully functional at my house. Tuesday evening I was cast out of high-speed Eden and left to wander in the darkness. I don't know why or how it stopped working (and I actually know a thing or two about those magic boxes called "computers"). The computer shows that I am connected, but NO browser (Firefox, IE, Opera, etc.) will connect. So posts here may be short, infrequent, and reflect my grumpy attitude. Pretty much just like always.

The most disgusting development from my lack of home internet is that I've had to substitute imagination for pornography, a choice NO man should ever have to make. The horror.

I'm wondering if having no home access to the world-wide-boobs might be a blessing in disguise. It isn't as if I sit around doing NOTHING other than surfing the net; probably only 10-15% of my at-home, awake hours are spent online. But I've often walked away from the computer feeling that I've accomplished nothing noteworthy. One cannot build meaningful memories in front of a computer monitor.

So I think I'll see where this hiatus takes me. Perhaps in another week, I'll be calling the phone company to pull their service from my house.

...Or maybe I'll be begging them to "Please make the magic box work again!"

Just depends on how well my imagination treats me.

Bicycle Built For Two

Daisy, Daisy
Give me your answer do

Lots of great answers to the caption/quiz about that flower. Most importantly, THREE of the answers involved breasts. Keep up the good work, gang.

But y'all must not know (or have forgotten) that I'm much more of an ass man (and legs man). When you realize that, the answer becomes obvious. Or maybe it doesn't.

That daisy image is a clinically accurate depiction of Hello Kitty's butthole, rhoids included.

Not pictured: stenches, hemorrhoids, or toilet paper.

Apparently, it's acceptable to sh!t your coveralls, as long as you are on the toilet when it happens.

I'm half crazy all for the love of you