Archive for December, 2009

The Christmas Ugly

December 24, 2009

My least favorite Christmas greeting is, without a doubt, “Have A Safe Holiday.”

What does it mean? I have to admit, I didn’t realize I was in any immediate danger just because there were now brightly colored lights on people’s porches and everyone was buying large quantities of cheap shit to wrap up in shredded trees to give to each other. It’s the trees who are in danger, when you really think about. They’re either being pulped and turned into gaudy wrapping paper or cut down, dried out and propped up in people’s living rooms with they’re lots of shoddy lightwight electical devices strung around them. One minute you’re living a peaceful existence in a pastoral woodland setting, cool autumn air, birds and squirrels, sunshine and quiet. The next you’re a fucking fire hazard next to noisy 51″ big screen that won’t stop playing Jersey Shore.

We’re lucky we don’t have an army of pissed off Ents storming this country each holiday season in revenge for their murdered brethren.

Anyway, I have a few ideas about what “Have A Safe Holiday” must mean in terms of avoiding any holiday mishaps.

  • Wear proper protective clothing at Christmas Bear Baiting parties. No one needs to lose a limb with all that wrapping needing to get done.
  • Dont fuck an Elf without a condom. Safe interspecies sex keeps us all healthy.
  • Take a night off from the Oxy. You know you’re going to be drinking a lot, right? Why chance respiratory arrest on the holiest of holies? “Hey Mom, guess what Santa left under the tree? Daddy’s cold lifeless corpse.”
  • Check twice under the car for explosives. You have enemies in the Mafia. Who doesn’t? Statistics show that December is the busiest time of the year for car bomb assasinations and it’s a bitch of a month for travel, too. Check twice, don’t get iced.
  • Three words: No Naked Tobogganing. Not that it’s not fun, trust me, it’s just that we live in sick times and you don’t want to put yuorself out there as an easy target for Toboggan Bashers.
  • Finally, don’t do anything stupid during the Running of the Christmas Caribou. Not that you’d be the first person who’s last sight was a pair of mossy antlers but the Northwest Territories are a hell of a place to die.

    They can’t even put you in the ground ’til the thaw.

  • Merry Christmas, Fuckers!


    Tip of the Cap: Ivan Rosebud

    December 12, 2009

    So everyone knows one of my favorite bands on Earth is The Rosebuds.

    In Ivan’s 2009 Year End List of highlights, number one is the show from the Middle East I was at last January.

      “When we played the Middle East Club in Boston this year I introduced our bass player Brad Cook (from Megafaun and Gayngs) to the crowd and they actually clapped for about five minutes straight without stopping. They realized what they were all doing half way into it and just kept getting louder and louder and louder till the place basically erupted and we had to almost stop the show early.”

    What Ivan doesn’t realize is that we were clapping so enthusiastically because it was just so damn good to see a big, hairy Irish looking guy profusely sweating and rocking out so profoundly on bass like that. The guy was into it, working it and every damn one of us knew it and appreciated it.

    We here in Boston know about hard work and partying and Brad Cook looks like he can hang.

    Brad Cook

    Come back anytime, folks, and we’ll treat you the same.

    Meanwhile, if you missed it, Ivan’s song about the time he and Brad were pulled over and detained by the police on a case of mistaken identity was released earlier this year on Hear Here!, a compilation featuring Raleigh, NC area artists. Full story and streaming version of “Brad Cook Is Not Your Man” right here.

    Ghosts of the Deep Wood

    December 3, 2009

    When did December get here? I can’t tell from the weather what season we’re in right now. One day it’s near 60 degrees outside, the next a cold wind and rainstorm is tearing down branches from the trees and littering the roads with debris. I went down to town this morning for some basic supplies and it looked fairly post-apocalyptic en route. Trash, fallen leaves and the odd roofing shingle or two blowing about aimlessly. People huddled under dark coats and hats. Buying canned goods and bottled water. Getting ready to hole up and wait for the end, I guess.

    Somewhat of a stark contrast to the Christmas lights and decorated storefronts but let’s be honest. The holiday season looks to be abit half-assed this year. Folks are going through the motions but there’s no heart in it, it seems. Like just another masquerade, putting on the masks and costumes and parading along like automatons.

    I’ve half a mind to seek out and find some real Christmas Spirit. Old fashioned comraderie and joy, the sort that warms the heart and inspires the soul. I should find it and get it inside me and then bring it to others, spread it like a virus. Through sexual intercourse.

    That’s not likely to happen, though. I’m just like all the rest. I’ve got my supplies and The Compound is secure. I’m closing up the curtains and listening to Shortwave Radio signals. Seeking through the static ether for any sort of sign or warning.

    There are sounds in the Deep Woods. There might be Ghosts in there, spectral and shimmering, shadowy and half-shaped. Lurking and leering and calling to us to come in. To wander into the Dark Heart of the Forest and stay a while. A long while.

    How long can we resist?