02 June, 2005
there's gonna be a showdown

...was the last song i spun on the turntable.

still ringing in my ears, the eloquent David Johannsen pontificating, before the grit and rasp of Johnny Thunders grinds the melody up:

Say, man... they tell me you're pretty good.
Don't you know you're in My neighborhood?
They tell me you're pretty fast on them feets.
You'd best be at the dance on fourteenth street, you heah!?

...and the rest is history.
well, maybe not history, presently.

what i really wanted to write about concerned the song in my head, first thing this morning... when the songs that i'd wished i'd forgotten are retrieved from deep memory, word-for-word, note-for-note, with publicity stills intact in visual recollection. for the rest of the day.

today's offering: Loverboy's "Everybody's Working For The Weekend".

what provokes such distain? not so much the inanity of the lyrics... rockers may not be "poets" but can be "poetic" nonetheless (or at least have a sense of humor), though not here.
"you wanna be in the show? c'mon, baby, let's go"... you knew how that sentence was going to end before it did, didn't you? it's like wandering up a path that takes you nowhere, but you walk on it still, anyway. and, nobody forced your feet to move.

and lastly, any band whose lead singer steals the iggy pop look better have the goods. either in bloodletting or riveting substance... or somebody needs to tattoo POSEUR across their ass in Kanji the next time they get stylishly illustrated.

please... leave my your least favorite mind-sticking song for my amusement in the Come Slum With Me section. if i can share the love, i'd sure like to share the pain.

back to my source of disquiet:

SlickWillie and i take up chainsaws, not at dawn, but tomorrow morning, like denim/flanneled/bandoleired revolutionaries against The Man. The Man being the property owner, the 80-year-old cock-fighting Veterinarian with a sense of entitlement surpassing that of Gawd, himself. convinced that he's been robbed of land because of dirty surveys, he attempts to retrieve some by putting a goat fence on my right-of-way... my only path for reaching my little plot of mountainside. all of the property he stands on and contests, was the inheritanceof my grandmother, ages ago.
tomorrow, the fence comes down, after the surveyors flagged off the tiny piece in question, almost a month ago.
here's a visual: picture old doctor that was in practice with Ed's buddy, on the cancelled program ED (NBC). bent, overweight, bald, scowling, judgemental, sneaky, and occasionally felonious of mouth.

this is going to be ugly.

but, i am going to laugh, gutturally when this is all over... and drop trou', and wave my prodigious doo-dingy proudly in defiance. and pee at the border of my territory. and maybe scratch my ass like dog on street.

this testosterone moment brought to you by the makers of Pro-Long-Dong.

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