It's Got That Bad Graphicky Taste, Y'know?

I don't really know how something like this happens.

But it did.

The cup my Coca Cola came in today ... a cup exactly like the one above (and which was the subject of one of my photoblog posts March 10th of this year)?

Well, it tasted exactly like that cup looks. I'm not kidding. It wasn't pleasant.

Imagine that, if you will .....

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

Inspiration On-Line

I wasn't necessarily looking for inspiration today.

I just figured it would come from out of the blue somewhere.

Sure enough ..... it did.

Boomer
God Bless America

withthebanned
Land that I love

Zoiks
stand beside her

Darmon
And guide her

Boomer
through the night

Boomerette
with the light from above

Darmon
From the mountains, to the prairies

Zoiks
To the oceans, white with foam

Ruprecht
God Bless America. *Our* home sweet home.

Boomer
nicely done (*second verse, same as the first*)

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

Life Among The Dead

I was at the L.A. County Fair Labor Day.

Admission was a buck ... the weather was gearing up to be picture perfect ... smokey meats and frolickous noise would be wafting in the air ... people everywhere. What's not to like?

I did the things I like to do at the Fair all by my lonesome. It's rather refreshing getting that opportunity. No needs, no hurrys, no unexpected restroom breaks, no doing what you don't want to do. Just the solitude of indulging in your very own whims.

Toward the end of the day, with seven hours under my belt, I thought it was about time to call it quits. I was still pleasantly satisfied at the smoked turkey leg I'd purchased hours earlier, my feet were beginning to get tired and it was beginning to get overly crowded with late afternoon revelers wanting nothing more than to go on carnival rides. But, finding myself passing the grandstands, I eyed an attraction: Our Body: The Universe Within. This was an exhibit I'd passed up in Vegas one year and missed somewhere else another ... but I saw here the chance to finally catch it and in a relaxed atmosphere no less. With the late afternoon sun beating down on everyone milling about at the Fair, this seemed like the perfect opportunity for physical as well as mental refreshment. (I mean, it had to be air-conditioned inside with all those plasticized bodies, right?)

Let it be said the exhibit was fascinating ... strange ... a bit weird ... brilliantly educational. It was a kick to see everyday average Joes and Josephines gawking in wonder at the exhibits, sometimes screwing up their faces in such manners as to be comical.

Questions by kids were directed at their parents. Boyfriends asked their girlfriends if this wasn't the coolest thing they'd ever seen. Old men and old ladies standing with their hands behind their backs contemplating the human form with steely intensity. Everyone gazed at lucite-encased exhibits of the hands and feet, then looked at their own, marveling at all the tendons within that moved their extremities in the unique and myriad ways they do.

For the most part, everyone was relatively quiet and respectful. There was an overall drone in the place; queries and oohs and aahs, even a few eeews and chuckles.

Relatively quiet, that is, until I got over to one particular exhibit showing a man in motion with muscle stripped away and hanging off his bones to show structure and relative positioning.

Each exhibit in the place was accompanied by a signpost that detailed various body parts and structures being showcased. At this particular model of the man with the dangling musculature, there was a rambunctious 4 year-old inside the roped off area around the display, merrily playing a self-absorbed game of Ring Around The Rosy with the pole holding the sign, gleefully screaming his head off. His parents - a young mother with a baby in her arms, a young father with another in his and several other kids milling about (no clue if they were theirs or not) - did nothing to corral the little boy.

I was right there when a fracas broke out. And it all happened in a span of 10 seconds: I saw the signpost begin to sway until it was at a point where it was coming dangerously close to banging against the plasticized man. I had half a mind to grab the little Buster Brown by his Buster Browns, but was patiently waiting for the parents to say or do something ... anything. Just then, a commotion behind me: a uniformed security guard rushed in and yelled at the kid. She saw, as I did, that the sign was perilously close to gouging the exhibit's head. As she climbed between the ropes to nab the child, the mother finally said something:

"Timothy ... don't do that. Come out here." The guard grabbed him by the shoulder; the mother hadn't moved an inch. "There's no need for that ma'am ... I'll take care of him." But ... she remained there while little Timmy ducked and dodged out of the way of the guard. The father just looked on in boredom.

Timmy finally escaped to his mother's side, a bit frightened by the guard who was stopping the sign from swaying. The mother yelled at the guard: "I said I would handle it!"

Words were then exchanged between the two. The mother walked off in a huff, Timmy in one hand, the other child still cradled in her arm. The father motioned the remainder of the children onward.

The guard, flabbergasted and out of breath, glared as the group retreated into another part of the room. She didn't take her eyes off them the remainder of the time they were in the place.

I continued my examination of the plasticized man on display ... and I could have sworn I saw him sigh in relief as little Timmy walked off.

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

The Pod People Want My Ass

We're creatures of habit ... creatures of comfort.

You know how you get used to stuff? Little things that make life nice for you ... things you're used to ... stuff you come to expect ... preferences ... you're own little quirks and kinks which keep you calm, cool and collected?

Well, I'm no different. I'm just like you. I have my likes and my dislikes. I prefer my creamer poured into my coffee cup before my coffee ... I shave before I shower ... I fold my shirts a certain way for a reason ... 'Hokay!' is a real word in my book.

And I prefer lots of things hard. I don't like Three Musketeers candy bars. (That gooey soft center is yucky.) My mattress? Make it firm. Chunky peanut butter with lots of crunch, please ... not that wimpy smooth stuff.

And my toilet seat needs to be hard; no soft, foamy cushion for this tush.

But that changed a few days ago. You see, I recently moved out of my house and I am now the guest of friends. And I couldn't ask for more hospitable hosts than the folks I'm with currently.

However ... their bungalow, where I'm currently residing? The restroom toilet seat therein houses one of those foamy, collapsing rings that 'settles' when you sit on it. It feels like your ass is being sucked into the toilet. It's as if the ring is alive. When you sit on it, you feel as if you're slowly sinking into the bowl.

Which naturally spurs the imagination: What it really feels like is that there are Pod People in the toilet and they're trying to suck me into their underground lair, ass first. (All right - so maybe it doesn't spur your imagination as much as it does mine ...)

Rather the frightening thought, not to mention the frightening feeling, right? If you'ven't ever had the 'pleasure' of a cushy toilet seat (and, for the life of me, I have no clue who would), then riddle me this: What would you think if you sat on the pot and suddenly felt as if you were being sucked into its porcelain confines? Creeped out, that's what! It's like Pod People are sucking at your ass ... with the rest of your body to inevitably follow!

Hey, Pod People! There's nothing there you want! Really! It's just ass! Nothing more! You seriously don't want to go there! Trust me! Besides, I always thought it was our minds you wanted to possess ... to turn us into your zombific minions and commit your foul deeds! Right? If that's truly the case, you're working the wrong end of our bodies and you need to head north. You're starting from the bottom of our top and that route is going to take you that much longer to accomplish your dastardly deeds!

Not to mention (and most importantly of all): It's an 'exit', not an 'entrance'! If you want to get at us, that's the wrong orifice! You start violating our derrieres and you'll just have us screaming frantically and ruining any chance you might have in taking total control of us.

Bottom line: Our asses aren't the way to go.

I know ... I know: You Pod People are not of this earth, but believe you me: The majority of us will confirm the fact the ass is not the way to go.

And, while I'm certain the creators of the cushy toilet seat had initial good intentions, I'm not on board with the whole comfort thing when it comes to 'visiting the library'. Get in, get out, get done.

Give me cool, slick, hard ovalness anytime.

And keep the Pod People out of my ass.

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

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 )