This Is Nobody

Garage Sales.

Some people love them. Some people hate them. Putting a sale together and working one? Some would rather dig a ditch than be subject to such an heinous production.

Now ... I can't say I truly love'em, but they offer the opportunity for fun and frolickry along with the wheeling and dealing. There's a certain thrill to formulating a transaction with someone who must possess your 'stuff'.

But what I want to do here is introduce you to someone in particular, someone named 'Nobody'. Let me explain:

A few weeks ago, I was the hunt for boxes to pack up garage sale items in preparation for the big event. Not only did I come across what I was looking for, but I also stumbled upon a bevy of discards obviously no longer needed or wanted. Among them: A retro vintage fan, in perfect condition, a brand, spankin' new magnetic chore chart for a child, still in it's original shrink wrap and the most awesome, gigantic rolling pin ever seen.

But the true find had to be the saddest, rustiest, most hole-ridden, cobweb-filled and grungiest watering can ever laid eyes on.

When I brought the treasures home and showed them to her, I beamed as I proclaimed "Perfect for the garage sale!" of the watering can.

She looked at the can, she looked at me. In a flat tone, emphasized only by her incredulousness, she noted: "Nobody is going to buy that thing."

Well, I would like to introduce you to 'Nobody'. She's real. She was a breath of fresh air and she was accommodating enough to pose for the picture I snapped below.

'Nobody' purchased that watering can for a mere 50¢. I'd forgotten it was even out there among our wares. I put it on our front stoop with our plants for decoration. When she asked if it was part of the garage sale booty for sale, I lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Of course it is! It's yours for four bits!"

She was delighted. I was delighted.

And I had photographic evidence 'Nobody' exists ...

........................ Ruprecht ( STOP )

Peg And Pete And Me

Something interesting happened at McCabe's Guitar Shop last Friday night.

It was the introduction of Stan Ridgway's new effort "Neon Mirage", run straight through from track #1 to track #12, the same sequence as the album.

100 of my 'closest friends' and I crowded into the small, intimate room that serves as McCabe's performance studio, a terrific little venue perfect for a cramped, personal performance like this.

I counted myself fortunate to sit vulnerably in the front row, a mere 8' from the band. Slightly amazed no one was sitting in the front rows, I positioned myself at an aisle seat and waited for someone to come shoe me away, stating my seat was reserved for some producer, family member or VIP. But, as the minutes went by, that call never came and the staff at McCabe's busily went about their pre-show preparations, never giving me a second look.

When Stan came out - backed by a 3-piece band which included wife and keyboardist Pietra Wexstun, percussionist extraordinaire Joe Berardi (rumor had it Stewart Copeland might appear, but that was the grandest of rumors as it turned out) and a serial-killerish looking guitarist who's name escaped me - he greeted the crowd with a few words of appreciation and admitted he was a little nervous to be on stage. Imagine! This veteran performer, hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of shows beneath his belt, nervous and seemingly a bit twitchy at getting the show underway! I had a feeling the night would be more than just a simple telling of the new album.

"This is my period of dignity," Stan revealed to us. Another turn in his storied career. Four songs in, however, he would ceremoniously throw that proclamation out the window by flinging a couple expletives out in the midst of a tale and emphasize such by grabbing his crotch. You gotta love Stan.


I would like to say the performance of the entire album went off without a hitch ... but where would the fun be in that? Midway through the night, at "Like A Wandering Star", the band had to begin the song a second time. The timing didn't mesh during the intial performance. You could tell the band was out of sorts playing it. But they jumped back on the track once they got the thing going again.

Stan paused between songs to introduce Jackie "Teak" Lazar, his ever-present show-biz woodburner, manager, professed "Big Wheel" and foil. It was coming ... we all knew it. Jackie, after all, has been with Stan for years, asshat that the puny punk is.

A few more songs in, "Behind The Mask" began off key and out of sync. Whatever they did to try and correct their flubs at the start just moved them further into chaos. An entire 30 seconds into the song Stan cut the cord, stopped the music, bantered about the unprofessionalism in doing a new album and began again ... this time louder, with more punch and in perfect time. Warts and all, this is what an intimate performance is all about - seeing the true character of a performer come into play and watching how his reaction is handled, seeing how one accommodates a boner. Stan didn't disappoint. The apology he gave and banter resulting from the flub was nothing less than an added bonus to the song, making it more memorable.

With the conclusion of the final song "Day Up In The Sun", Stan thanked the audience for the privilege of having us attend, then launched into an old favorite, "Lonely Town". Some doofus chick behind me annoyingly kept calling out for "Lost Weekend", probably wishing to relive some alcohol-fueled end-of-week jaunt of her past. I heard her 'hurmph' and reposition herself in her chair as "Lonely Town" began.



Stan and band next performed "Mission In Life" and I sat there mesmerized, watching him tell the song's tale without blinking.

An encore saw fan favorites "Call Of The West" and "Ring Of Fire" (complete with acoustical distortion) sonically thrust upon a giddy crowd.

All in all, an absolutely outstanding show, warts and all. Those warts (few that there were) are what made the evening however ...

................... Ruprecht ( STOP )

Happy 234th and God Bless America

From the Declaration Of Independence:

"We, therefore, the representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the name, and by the authority of the good people of these colonies, solemnly publish and declare, that these united colonies are, and of right ought to be free and independent states ..."

Happy 234th ... and God Bless America .....

...................... Ruprecht ( STOP )

Disability (repost)

I've decided to repost the following from an entry I contributed last year. It's appropriate today.

_______________________

I heard this in church a few months ago .....

Kevin was born with a disability that robbed him of oxygen to his brain.

Nevertheless, he had a pretty good life, a pretty normal life.

When grown, he towered at 6'2". But, at 35 years of age, he still had the mental capacity of a 5 year old. Kevin loved life, however.

He loved getting up in the morning. He did a fantastic job everyday at his work which he loved dearly and he never finished work until he was complete with a project. Kevin met each opportunity with the exuberance of a child. Not surprisingly because he was a child mentally.

Kevin loved macaroni and cheese - his favorite meal - which he ate every single evening.

Kevin prayed every night before he went to bed. He prayed with every fiber of his being.

And he also believed that God lived under his bed.

So ... what if God did live under his bed? Kevin was too much of a child to understand this really couldn't be the case.

But it was the fervor, the "gung-ho" attitude Kevin exhibited in his prayer to God that made me wonder.

You see: I worry about the state of affairs in our country. I worry about what I'm going to say during my meeting tomorrow. I worry about what's for dinner tonight. I worry about how I'm ever going to get through the week with so many things filling up my calendar. So many, many trivial things that just don't make a difference. I worry about future events when I don't have any real control over what the future holds.

So ... I wonder: Who really has the disability?

Is it Kevin?

Or is it me?

...................... Ruprecht ( STOP )

It's The Same Old Routine ... But It Never Gets Old

It’s the same old routine … every road trip.

But it never gets old.

“I don’t like any of these,” she says.

“Yes. You do,” I respond.

“Which one? I don’t recognize any. Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m certain. Put on any of the World Party discs and you’ll see. You especially like the songs on 'Egyptology'.”

“I think you’re wrong,” she states emphatically.


In my mind I prepare to start counting as soon as the first tune begins to play. I have a personal goal to meet, you see, as I rarely get to count up to the number 15 before she let’s on she does know what's playing.

The CD is slipped into the player and I begin to count.

At the 11 second mark comes the revelation: “Okay. Maybe you're right. I know this one …” She can't but help break out into a grin.

I look over, smile back at her and tell her I love her.

We'll gladly repeat this routine again in a couple weeks on our next trip .....

................... Ruprecht ( STOP )

The Annual Trek To Jamba Juice

Jamba Juice and I ... we have an understanding.

And it is this: I go and pick something up from that establishment ... and at some point something goes wrong.

This is the way it's gone for as long as I can remember. You want proof? I present my case ...

For the last three years on or about the boss's birthday, "The Tradition" has been to trek over to a local Jamba Juice and pick up the drinks of choice for the entire office staff. Not a frequenter of the place, I've no idea what to get. Truth be told, the place is rather perplexing to me. Energy shots and protein powders and milk-fed wheat weeds and dollops of gordness knows what.

But ... I digress .....

Year One? The orders got all screwed up. Year Two? One hour wait ... and the drinks leaked all over the place on the way back to the office. Year Three .. this year?

Well, things were going rather swimmingly for a bit. The boss was pleased with his refreshment ... his assistant dug the new "5 Fruit Frenzy" she ordered ... and my Tourette's-infused computer operator was enjoying some pomegranate concoction containing "monkey juice" or somesuch.

As I was leaving the office for the day, I spilled my barely-sipped drink all over the building entrance, causing peach flavor to decorate the entry in a drab orange spray pattern that probably would have thrilled a crime scene splatter expert.

Of the few times I've been to a Jamba Juice of my own accord (and when I say this I mean with friends or family) some other mishap has inevitably occurred.

You see: Jamba Juice and I ... we have an understanding:

I go there and the establishment exacts some sort of inexplicable revenge upon me .....

..................... Ruprecht ( STOP )

Ladies & Gentlemen: Asshat Of The Week

"When you ask to be ridiculed, it usually happens.
And it will happen here, nationally.”

- University of Virginia political scientist Larry Sabato

"An unscientific poll on the website of the Virginian-Pilot finds that 96 percent of the more than 4,000 people who have taken the survey think Cuccinelli’s decision was a 'bad idea.'"

They didn’t even bother to ask which decision.
- comment by toonguy

..................... Ruprecht ( STOP )