When Heather Met Buju

Well, according to this I haven't blogged in over a month. OK, I buy that. I took the fact that I couldn't remember the password as a sign it had been awhile. Plus, not only have I not blogged for a month, but I went out on Miss Constance. Sure, I like the song, but top billing for over a month? Not so much.

On the plus side, I will not be taking any classes in the spring. Wow, I had to take a minute there. That sentence still makes me a little dizzy with delight. After god knows how long of getting up at 4 AM, seven days a week and working pretty much around the clock, I'm out. I've got so many things going on that I'm excited to get a chance to focus on without, you know, typing something about booking your own shows with one hand while calculating Gini coefficients with the other. Also, I am now officially the world's most educated broke person, so that's exciting as well.

What I'm saying is - I've got more time to blog now.

And since it's been awhile, instead of just saying, "hey, guess what I'm watching on YouTube, cool, huh?", I'll tell you a story. A story about when I met Buju Banton. It goes something like this:

I used to work in a Jamaican restaurant, as I may have mentioned. It's long story. I went there hoping they had mix tapes. (Yes, in a restaurant. I know.) They got me hooked on ginger beer and then eventually offered me a job. Once I started working there, it turned out to be a great source for mix tapes, so ha ha, I was right all along. It was also a great source for other things which has something to do with why it is not around any more, but that's another story.

Anyway, when certain musicians would pass through town, they would eat at the restaurant. As the only waitress, I would clean up on tips on those nights, so that worked out for me. The biggest event we had was when Buju Banton came to town. Instead of our usual set up a big table/cook a big meal routine for other artists, Buju's visit was meant to be something of a party. A radio station came down, there was a butterfly contest (no, I didn't enter - I know my limitations), we took over part of the parking lots for the party - it was a lot of fun. Probably 150 or so people turned up, and like most nights, the kitchen had prepared enough food for maybe 6 or 7, so I spent a good three hours taking abuse from people who wanted to know how a restaurant could run out of food. It was a valid question. All I could do was offer carrot juice and coco bread.

Buju was introduced to everyone working in the restaurant, but he couldn't really be arsed. This was of great disappointment to me and another girl working there who had been playing Make My Day on repeat for several weeks in preparation. Then, however, Buju got asked to do a TV interview for a local college news station (their own campus news network, I guess, I really don't know). Buju decided he wanted to talk about unity, and then he pointed at me and yelled, "You!" Then there was some more yelling, and the next thing I knew, I was being pushed into a seat at a table with Buju with TV cameras being set up in front of us. The cameras rolled, and Buju started talking about us all being one people, and so on and so forth - it was a nice message, but as he went on, he started talking faster and faster, until eventually he lost me, the college kids running the cameras and most of the crowd. Every once in awhile, he would grab my hand and hold it up like I had just won a boxing match and become very animated. I just pretty much smiled and nodded the whole time. I think once he asked me if I agreed with something, and I just said, "yes."

And that was it! Interview was over, I was thanked from my services, and I was soon behind a sink washing dishes for a very long time. I've no clue whatever happened to that interview. That same university had a reggae show every Sunday on their radio station (still do, actually), so I listened that week, but there was nary a mention of Buju.

So, no, that video up there isn't the interview video. It's Make My Day , because, well, remember this? Unfortunately it's one of those "look at an album cover while listening to the song" videos because you can't embed the original video at Universal's request. Idiots.

Count Lasher - Miss Constance

I don't know nearly as much as about Mento music as I'd like to. In fact, until about 15 minutes ago, if you had demanded that I name a Mento song, Miss Constance might have been all I would have been able to come up with. Since I've got to brave the Thanksgiving traffic at first light tomorrow (or as close to first light as I feel safe enough hitting the country back road shortcuts to I-95 by myself), I'm in the process of downloading music for my trip. I've decided that Mento and I will get to know each other a little better as I make my way along the highways and byways of the Carolinas. I suspect eventually I'll give in and put on something I can sing along to, but Mento and I are going to at least break the ice. (Really, I give some pretty incredible performances in my car when I'm on Interstate 95. Fortunately, I'm invisible since no one can see you when you're driving. Everyone knows that.)

But yes, as of 15 minutes or so ago, I've significantly increased my Mento collection, but right now, Miss Constance is still my favorite. This song is hilarious. And very dirty. But really funny. Check it out.

Louder Than Words, Plus Ninjaman vs Supercat Sting '91, Because Why Not?

I've got a big assignment due tomorrow AM, plus a looming, end of the month deadline, so you know what that means - time to update my blog! So, I mentioned before about reading Wake The Town and Tell The People, Norman C. Stolzoff's book about dancehall culture. I was quite late to the party in reading it to begin with, and it took me ages to finish because I kept having to stop and read things Statistics with Stata (it's as good as it sounds), but I finally made it through. And...

Loved it. The approach is very academic, granted, and so that makes it a little clinical and really at odds its subject. On the other hand, I've been a big dancehall fan for a long time now, and I still learned a ton. Plus, wow, there is so, so little written about this kind of music that it's great to see a book like this.

Stolzoff isn't done yet, either. The video above is the trailer for his documentary, Louder Than Words. It's been in the works for a few years now, there was a round of press about it earlier this year, and from what I can find online, he's hoping the film will be released in 2009 - though in the fine tradition of dancehall, info online is hard to come by. Anyone know anything about it? Why do I have a feeling it's not coming to a North Carolina theater soon? Anyway, can't wait to see it. Ricky Trooper, aw, yeah....

And the video below - Ninjaman vs Supercat - sure, it's a little random, as my little sister would say, but hey, I'm watching it. Why not you?

Sister Nancy, Killamanjaro, 1996

I was actually looking for another Sister Nancy video, but this is good, no? My neighbor disagrees, I think, because he just banged on the wall. He's got some nerve with his whole, "the door isn't closed unless the whole building shakes" routine, but never mind.

This is good, too. I love the poison bottle.

Calypso Awakening: From the Emory Cook Collection

First, a few items of business:

1. So, I've totally dropped the ball on this whole 30 blogs in 30 days National Blogging Month or whatever it's called. (Thanks for pointing it out, Ed!) But, to be fair, I do blog every day on my About.com site, so I think that totally counts. Right? Right?!?!

2. Neosporin Lip Treatment smells like curry. The taste has a hint of curry as well. I'm down with curry, but that doesn't mean I want to smear it on my lips.

3. Usually when I post about music stuff, I write about whatever song happens to be stuck in my head. Right now, I'm trying to get a song out of my head. Namely, Mrs. Officer by Lil Wayne. Now, don't get me wrong. I see the appeal in the song. But Brother Lou - who in fact has just posted about it - was singing it today forever and now it's playing my head. My neighbor blasted Lil Wayne - namely, Lollipop - over and over again for weeks. Mostly while I was sleeping. I dreamt about Lil Wayne like 5 nights in a row. And no, not like that. It was more like "Heather and Lil Wayne's Madcap Capers." Once, in some kind of Lil Wayne/Seinfeld collision, I dreamt we had to steal files from a doctor's office. Anyway, I don't want to go through that again, so I'm trying to free myself from Mrs. Officer.

Well, that's out of the way, then. So, Calypso Awakening. Emory Cook was an audio engineering wiz, and he's known for all kinds of super duper recording things ("super duper recording things" - yes, you can quote me on that). He had a label called Cook Records, and even though he did work with lots of different kinds of musicians, he's maybe best known for working with musicians in the Caribbean, especially Calypso musicians in Trinidad and Tobago during the 1950s and 1960s. He basically traveled to T&T and hung out recording music and why isn't that my job?

Cook donated all of the tapes from his label to the Smithsonian, hence this collection from Smithsonian Folkways. It's mostly Lord Melody and The Mighty Sparrow, but it's very cool. If you've got eMusic, you can download it there. I couldn't really find any YouTube stuff from Lord Melody or Mighty Sparrow I was crazy about, so here's Lord Kitchener Sugar Bum Bum instead. (Oh, come on, work with me! Oh, and ps, I still have no idea what happened to my comments. Sorry.):

Out A Hand/Cu Oonuh (3 The Hard Way)

Many moons ago, I worked at a Jamaican restaurant, and one of the guys that worked there used to make me lots and lots of mix tapes. They were always fab, but, you know, they didn't come with liner notes, so I didn't know what a lot of the music on the tapes actually was. Unfortunately, it turns out that seven years in a storage unit is pretty hard on a cassette, and the tapes are no longer with us. What has always been good over the years, though, has been rediscovering tracks that were on those tapes and actually finding out what they were.

These songs remind me of that. I always think of them coming on one after another, because they were that way on a tape I had. That all made sense when I discovered they were from this record, 3 The Hard Way. The three in question are Cutty Ranks, Reggie Stepper and Capleton. I can't actually remember when I identified these songs, but I was reminded of them recently when I saw them listed back to back on a comp. I guess I'm not the only one who thinks of them as a unit. So, anyway, here we are, first up, Out a Hand by Cutty Ranks, and then Cu Oonuh by Reggie Stepper. And yes, once again, this is an audio experience, not a visual one. The videos happen to be exactly the same. Go figure.

I'm Totally Psychic Now

Obviously, how can I not start off by saying something about last night? The funny thing is I'm not really sure what the right words could be. Quite simply, I never believed a day like this would come. I left this country in 1999. When I came back 7 years later, it was a different place. It was a worse place. Today I'm proud. And yeah, I've cried several times. I feel like my own life has changed, and you know what? I think it has. I don't have the words.

And since I don't have the words: the psychic thing. When I finally decided to get a little bit of sleep last night, I had a dream that my friend in Scotland had become a father. His girlfriend is in fact pregnant. So, this morning, I emailed him to tell him about my dream. He emailed me right back to say his girlfriend had just given birth to a son. WOW. Weird, huh?

PS - Yes We Did.

The NHS: I Tried It And I Liked It

On this glorious election day, I thought I'd share some of my experiences with universal health care. Unlike a lot of Americans who get their knickers in a twist at the thought, I've been lucky enough to live under both the American health care system and the British National Health Service, so I've tasted both worlds. Since I've got what they call a "chronic condition" (don't worry, it's endocrine, not contagious), my medical care involves more than than a trip to the doctor when my nose starts to run, so I've had pretty extensive dealings with both systems. Here's how it's worked out for me:

First, let's just get this out of the way: the NHS is not the best example. All health care systems, private or public, are flawed, and the NHS has its own share of problems and maybe a few more. I certainly had my issues with it. The common problem with the NHS is the so-called "postcode lottery," in which where you live can have a pretty big impact on the quality of care. (Before you use that as an argument against universal health care, tell me that doesn't exist here. Now tell my grandfather who lives in a small mountain town in Western PA that he has the same health care options as me, who lives with seven miles of both UNC and Duke hospitals.) But the post code lottery is real. I visited someone in a hospital in Edinburgh once, and it was all shiny and new, meanwhile, I had surgery in a hospital in Glasgow and it was a bit like having an operation in some history museum dedicated to the Victorian era. (That's a picture of the hospital up there. It's fittingly called the Victoria Infirmary)

The other problem I had with the NHS was that my endocrinologist was inarguable insane. There was little I could do about it.

I'll tell you what I did get from the NHS. Free visits to the doctor, anytime, all the time (I had to go once a month). Free medication (most people pay a minimal fee for prescriptions, but since I have a chronic condition, all of my medication was free). Free lab work and any other testing I needed (I had to have blood work done monthly). Free surgery. Free emergency room care.

Since returning to the US, here is what I have gotten. I can't get insurance. Because I have an existing condition, no one will insure me, or the ones that will want a monthly payment that is literally more than my rent AND they will not cover anything to do with my condition for 18 months. I am not taking all of the medication I am supposed to be taking because I can't afford it. I have small job I work exclusively to cover the $300 worth of prescriptions I do pay for every month (it's a nice addition to my 18 hour course load and my full time workload). I am 6 months overdue for an endocrinologist visit and lab work, but I can't go yet because I'm still trying to pay off the $1200 bill my last trip left me with. I know I need to go, and I don't just know that intellectually. I know that because of the way I feel every day. You don't have to reach for your violin, but for instance, the pain in my hands is bad enough that I have to pop a cocktail of painkillers all day long, because hey, I type for a living. What else am I going to do?

(As an aside, did I mention that I don't qualify for federal student aid for my tuition because I make "too much" and that I had to pay $1800 in taxes this year, even though I only made enough to money to qualify for a $300 stimulus package payment instead of the full $600? This system really works!)

So, there you have it, my experiences under universal health care (which incidentally is, sadly, not what any candidate is suggesting) and the US health care system. I think you can understand my preferences.

A few weeks ago, one of my friends in Scotland passed away. I was talking to his wife a few days after it happened, and she said to me, "I just thank god for the NHS, because at least I don't have to worry about how I'm going to pay for his treatment on top of everything else." She's a teacher. I'm glad she doesn't have to worry about it either.

Wake The Town and Tell The People

I'm about half way through this book (subtitled Dancehall Culture in Jamaica). It's pretty old, but I'm not too proud to admit I just got around to reading it. I should have read it a lot sooner. Aside from the fact Norman C. Stolzoff has pretty much written the book I want to write, it's fab. If you love dancehall, music history, or dare I say, are interested in the political economy of the Caribbean, this book is highly recommended. (OK, well, the first half is. I can't comment on the rest. I'll let you know.)

And isn't the title kind of perfect for this election eve?

Ok, sure, here's U Roy (though it's kind of maddening to listen to - gets kind of wobbly):

Si Boops Deh!

A few months ago, I read an interview with Winston Riley (this one, from The Gleaner. He's apparently building a museum, and I totally want to go.). In the interview, he was asked which songs he produced are his favorites, and he mentioned Boops by Supercat (or Super Cat? Someday, I would like someone to settle on a spelling and stick with it). I thought, by god, he's right! Boops IS a great song!

Anyway, since then, I've been hooked on it, which has led to me listening to Si Boops Deh! over and over again. It was produced by Winston Riley and Prince Jammy, Steely and Clevie made up the band - there's a lot to like. Even so, it's funny, I always have this vague feeling that I shouldn't like Supercat. Sometimes, I don't like Supercat. There was no excuse for the whole Sugar Ray thing, for instance. But what I'm really trying to say here is this: I like Supercat. There. It's out. End of story. And if you want to hear Boops, here's a video. Note that I use the term "video" loosely. This is more of an audio experience.

And by the way, I have no idea why the comments aren't working. Don't hate me, hate Blogger.

The Glasgow Underground Song

How have I never heard this songs before? I wish I could post the video, but embedding has been disabled (which I have to say is pure fuckin' daft, man). Anyway, check it out here. The video above is a consolation prize: I Belong To Glasgow, complete with video tour shot from the front seat of a car. I thought I was going to enjoy it, but it has actually made me a bit emotional.

I remember reading about the Glasgow Underground in a guidebook before I arrived in the city. The book made it sound like a big attraction, but I have to tell you, even as a big Glasgow fan, it's a bit crap, really. The route is just a big circle, the trains are REALLY small (I stand a whopping 5'2", and I nearly always had to bend down), and it's got a really odd smell. The guidebooks to Glasgow - which I found to be way off the mark in every single way - suggest that the locals call the tube the "Clockwork Orange," because of the circular route and for the fact that the trains are orange. I never, ever heard anyone call it that, except to say, "people call it the Clockwork Orange." Who is calling it that? No one seems to know.

In case you're interested, more bad advice from Glasgow guidebooks:

- Don't ever go to the southside - it's dangerous. (I never lived anywhere else. Some kids did throw rocks at me when I was running through The Gorbals during a 5K, but other than that, no problems.)

- When the locals order drinks, they order "a wee nip and a huff." (That's a pretty big assumption, and I don't think I've ever had anyone tell me they want a wee nip and a huff when it was my turn to get a round in.)

- When someone asks you which team you support, say Partick Thistle. (Don't come to Glasgow and start talking football at all is good advice, but come on, no one's going to believe you support The Jags.)

The Rebel Flag Incident

I've already voted (yep, Obama). And as such, I've been trying to only read headlines this week and not get too wrapped up in all of the nonsense before the election. My blood pressure can't take it, and after all, I don't have insurance. What's finally put me over the edge, oddly enough, is all of the socialism stuff. I've spent way too much time and way too much money in school studying econ and poli sci to listen to people scream about socialism who don't even know what it is. I'm not saying you have to like it, but I am suggesting you should understand it if you want to talk about it. Incidentally, you know things like one of the most heavily subsidized industries in the world, American agriculture? Yeah, that ain't capitalism, baby. That's kind of like the wealth generated by the efficient industries being redistributed to prop up inefficient industries. Hmm.

But I digress. As I was saying, I've been trying to protect my delicate sensibilities in this last week of the election, and so I didn't see the above video of someone yelling out "he's a (n-word)" about Obama at a Palin speech until Ron Mexico posted a link in his blog. I'm not particularly surprised, nor am I surprised that some people are saying she's yelling, "redistributor!" Come on, redistributor my arse, but whatever. I think we can see from Palin's reaction that she heard it and she didn't say anything. That doesn't surprise me either.

OK, so this video doesn't surprise me, but it does drive home a point that is on my mind very much this week. I've seen two trends emerging in the media, online and in conversations I hear when I'm out and about. One says that Obama is going to lose a lot of votes on election day on the basis of race. The other says that race is not a major issue in our country. I think this second school of thought is just plain wrong, and this week, of all weeks, we ignore that at our peril. Incidentally, you don't have to be a democrat to acknowledge that. But, here's how I know that race is a big issue - my rebel flag story. This experience was big wake up call for me about how deeply these feelings run, and maybe if you don't think that race is an issue, it will surprise you a little bit.

When I was in high school, I was the editor of the school newspaper (this was in the 1990s). At the start of one school year, we had a series of fights in our (highly segregated) lunchroom and courtyard that were kicked off by a bunch of guys waving around a rebel flag and yelling all of the requisite stuff that goes along with that. They were pointedly trying to get a reaction out of some of the black students, and they often succeeded, and we ended up these racially motivated fights. Don't remember exactly how many, but at least a few, possibly several.

I wrote an editorial saying that they shouldn't be allowed to bring the rebel flag to school. Mind you, Malcolm X shirts had been banned for being inflammatory when they had become popular after the Spike Lee movie. To be honest, I didn't even know anyone read the school paper. They did this time.

I'd need a novella to do justice to all of the fallout from what I wrote, so I'll just give you the greatest hits here. I received a letter in the newspaper office that first of all suggested that my middle name is "Black Lover" (in reality, it's Lee), and then went on to say a bunch of nonsense, including, "if you love the blacks so much, why don't you just go be one." It was a low point for the English language, but it was hate filled and it was signed by hundreds of people - HUNDREDS. Including some people I thought were my friends. People yelled "N- Lover" at me as I walking to my classes. A teacher called me that (he was not reprimanded). One of my teachers said she could not grade my papers objectively any more. Someone reported to the principal that some guys were talking about running me down in the parking lot, and so the school had to move the parking spot of the friend that I rode to school with up to the teacher's area so I wouldn't have to walk across the lot. We received threatening phone calls at home, and it's kind of funny, I didn't know until recently just how bad that got because my parents protected me from some of it.

Now, leaving aside the obvious question of why people who defend the rebel flag and claim it's not a racist symbol retaliate to any objection to it with racial slurs, what I really learned from this experience is just how much of an issue race is, even with people who you may not realize have an issue with it. I excepted this kind of stuff from, say, the guys who started it all with their flag stuff in the first place, but 95% of the people that I had a problem with through all of this were the people I never would have expected.

So, my point here is please, please don't write off this issue in the run up to this election, and please, please don't assume this is in the bag for Obama. Race is definitely an issue here, and he will definitely pay for it on election day. Don't get lazy! Vote! Please!

For Marisa, On Forgetting to Mail Her the Football Tickets

I was supposed to mail my friend Marisa tickets to the UNC v. Boston College football game for today. It didn't happen. Oops. So, here, Marisa, a public apology and a video dedication. I know this one will remind you of trips to UNC games past.

Lord Kitchener - Dr. Kitch and More

Dr. Kitch - funniest song ever? Maybe. But just about everything Lord Kitchener did was was fantastic, and I just came across a really good video (posted below) of the man himself talking about his childhood, moving to the UK (including some the famous footage of him singing London is the Place for Me as he arrived in Britain) and more. It made me dig out two of my fav comps that I haven't listened to in awhile - they're part of a series that started out chronicling the music of West Indian immigrants to Britain and later branched out to include more immigrant groups:




I stole both of those images from one of the best labels ever, Honest Jon's (stealing from Honest Jon's, have I no shame?). The first one is subtitled Trinidadian Calypso in London, 1950 -1956 and with a few exceptions is essentially a Lord Kitchener comp. The second one is subtitled Calypso and Kwela, High Life and Jazz from Young Black London and has a much more varied track listing. So, I can't recommend these collections enough, and if you're a little bit nerdy like me and like to understand the historical and cultural stuff behind the music, you'll really like the liner notes.

Last but not least, here's that Lord Kitchener video. I know, I know, someday I'll write about something for real instead of just posting videos, but come on, people, I'm tired. Cut me some slack. Please?

You Know I'm Always Moanin', But You Jump Start My Serotonin

Lest you think all I can do is post old dancehall videos on my blog, here I prove to you that I can post old Scottish indie videos as well. The title of this blog is a line from this song by Arab Strap, called The Shy Retirer. I remember having an ludicrously impassioned debate with a friend of mine about it - I took the position it was a stupid lyric, and he took the position it was the best lyric ever written. In retrospect, I believe that copious alcohol consumption in the run up to the debate may have caused us each to defend our points with a bit too much enthusiasm.

For some reason, this lyric popped into my head when I woke up this morning, and I had to hear the song. I like Arab Strap, but this has never been one of my fav songs by them (obviously after objecting so strenuously to that line in the song, I always had to take a hard line against it), but what do you know, I like it now. Go figure. This is the one and only time I'll admit, though.

Scenes from a Record Store #2: Dirty Little Secrets

Don't get too excited, because this post is less about dirty little secrets than it is about not engaging in subtle mockery with people who don't understand subtle mockery.

The man who owned the record store I worked in had expanded his empire to include more locations, and as such, there were some employees of the company who had so called "district" roles. A few of these people had real jobs, but some of them seemed to be just be old friends of the owner who were on the payroll for no good reason, taking money from the rest of us who really worked.

There was one man in one of these jobs that was particularly disliked. From where I was sitting, his job seemed to exclusively entail printing up typo filled flyers and leaving them on the store counter ("DJ Goldie will be spining!" - that's a direct quote that from one of these flyers that has stayed with me through the years). He was handsomely rewarded for his work. Or well, handsomely rewarded by indie record store standards.

That, however, was not enough for him, and here is where he made enemies. Like all record stops, we received tons and tons of promos. We used to divvy them up at periodic "promo parties" which involved copious amounts of alcohol, but that's another story. As a used record store, we bought back CDs. We often sold our own CDs to the store to get money to supplement our ridiculously bad pay (and then we would take the CDs we had sold to the store and put them on hold until we got paid, kind of like our own little pawn shop. Sometimes we got our stuff back in other ways, but 5th Amendment and all that). Obviously, selling promos back to the store was an attractive option. Pure profit. But, because we got them for free, and labels spent money pressing them, we could only sell them back to the store for $1 and price them at $2. That was the rule.

Well, our typo happy friend, who was technically outranked all of us in the store, didn't like this policy for himself. He scored lots of promos for unfathomable reasons, and he would sell them, like, 100 or more at a time, and insist we pay him full price for them. He'd walk out with hundreds of dollars sometimes. We hated him for it. Well that, and he was just generally a twat, but that's beside the point. He seemed to like to come to the specific shop I worked in most often, so although dislike of him spread throughout the stores, we had to put up with him frequently.

Now, it just so happened that one night, one employee of the store attended a party where a friend of a friend of a friend had way too much to drink. This friend of a friend of a friend confessed two things:

1. She worked as a dominatrix
2. Mr. Buy-My-Promos was a customer of hers

Oh, this information. It was better than winning the lottery. It was unclear what we could do with it, but just the knowing that we knew this dirty little secret of his felt so good.

Not long after, he came into the store. He had a huge box of promos. Tons of them. The same deal was in place - we were to pay him as though they were regular CDs. It must have been a shift change, because there were four of us behind the counter instead of the usual two. We all knew about the dominatrix. We decided to amuse ourselves. The conversation went kind of like this:

Mr. Buy-My-Promos: So, how are y'all doing today?

Employee One: Phew, I'm beat.

Employee Two: Yeah, these customers are really whipping us into shape today.

Employee Three: Definitely, we're really getting spanked here.

You get the picture. I believe "I'm all tied up right now" and other such things were worked into the conversation. We were quite pleased with ourselves, and he was none the wiser. The thing was, only three of us had been taking part in the conversation. The fourth employee was actually doing the buy back. I guess he decided he wanted a piece of the action, though. When he handed the money to Mr. Buy-My Promos, he said:

"Now, don't go take all this money and spend it on a dominatrix!"

Not only did he say that, but then he turned around, looked at the three of us, laughed and gave a self satisfied nod. For a minute it seemed like he might run around and high five us all. We just froze in stunned silence. Mr. Buy-My-Promos gave an awkward, "Ha ha, um, ok, thanks, see you guys" and high tailed it out of there.

Needless to say, this particular employee was frozen out of all future attempts at subtle humor amongst the staff.

Burro Banton, Cutty Ranks, Supercat, Etc, Etc...

I was planning on writing about Wackies today but somewhere along the line I lost the will. So, instead of doing that (and also instead of doing the million and one other things I should be doing), I started watching videos on YouTube. I recently ordered a DVD of the 1986 Stereo Mars People's National Party rally, aka the best gig ever, and so to tide me over while I'm waiting, I decided to watch the video of Cutty Ranks at said rally. The video is on tons of sites, but I'll post it down at the bottom anyway, because it's so, so good.

While watching that video I came across the video posted above, which I have now watched, oh, 80, 90 times. No exaggeration. OK, so you're right, maybe a little exaggeration. I love watching these old videos of Cutty Ranks. When I was just getting into this kind of stuff and was randomly buying tapes from the reggae section, Cutty Ranks From Mi Heart was one of the albums that made me fall in love with music. I still listen to it all the time (although I have upgraded to CD). I haven't liked anything he's been doing lately, unfortunately. I love seeing Supercat like this, too. I know he eventually did a song with Sugar Ray, and while I'm not justifying it, I forgive him. So anyway, I hope you like the videos, too. I'd like to post more of them, but hey, this can only be so long. Maybe next time.

007 (Shanty Town)/The Harder They Come

Wow, what a day. And not in a good way. I was going to take out my aggressions here, but really, I think it's best to just leave you with the great song above. Yes, it is a video, but I think you'll find the visuals leave a little to be desired. I'm going to listen to some more of this music before I watch the address about the economy. I think it's my best option after a long, intensely annoying day that is destined to become even more annoying when I have to listen to Bush pretend he understands macroeconomics.

By the way, that song is on the soundtrack to the f'ing great movie The Harder They Come. If you've not seen it, well, what are you waiting for? I was lucky enough to see a special showing of it in Glasgow that was presented by Jimmy Cliff. He answered questions after the movie. Between his accent and the Glasgow accent, you've never heard so much miscommunication in one room. It was so great, though. Now that I think of it, I saw Lee "Scratch" Perry perform in Glasgow that very same night. What was going on in Glasgow that weekend?!?! Can't remember. Anyway, here's a video for The Harder They Come. You can thank me later:

Scenes from a Record Store #1 - Twista is a Rap Artist

By way of introduction, let me tell you that I used to worked in a small, independent record store. If you ever want to taste the crazy, you get yourself a job in a record store. Not a big, chain record store, but a small local shop where you get lots of regulars hanging out. I know working with the public always offers its fair share of hilarity, but I've worked with the public in other jobs, and trust me, a record store is like the gold medal ceremony of insanity. Needless to say, the job left all of us who worked there with lots of stories. Frankly, I'm not even sure how amusing they are to anyone who wasn't there, but since many of my most enduring friendships started behind that counter, I'm going to tell some of them. Or, well, at least one of them. I know at least five people will appreciate the walk down memory lane. I hope it's not too boring for everyone else.

Some of my favorite record stop stories involve stupidity in shoplifting, and this particular incident always stands out in my memory. So, the scene: it was a Friday or Saturday night - very busy night in the store, thanks to our proximity to a movie theater. Two young men came through the door, and one approached me at the counter while the other moved towards the CDs to start shopping.

The guy who came to the counter told me he wanted to special order a cassette by Twista. We had a procedure for special orders in which we asked the customers to address a postcard to themselves, which we then mailed to them when their order arrived. I got him to address the card to himself while I looked up the catalogue number. When he was done I said, "OK, thanks, should take a week or so to come in." The whole transaction took maybe a minute and half.

Instead of walking away, this guy stood and stared at me for a minute. He glanced around a few times. Then he said, "Ummmmmmmm.....uhhhhhhhhh....Twista is a rap artist."

At this point, two things became clear to me:

1. I had been racially profiled.

2. Something else was going on here.

I informed him, "Yep, I got it, thanks." The store was really busy, and while my co-worker and I both knew something was up, we didn't have much choice but to let it ride for now. (Well, I suppose we had a choice, but we didn't care that much, truth be told.) I saw him and his friend have a semi-heated exchange and then nervously walk out of the store.

When things calmed down, my co-worker and I went in the back of the store to check the security tape. Sure enough, this guy's friend was shoplifting while he was valiantly attempting to keep me busy at the counter. The beauty was the shoplifting technique. There was a camera in each corner of the store. He had turned his back away from one and had made a big deal about concealing what he was doing from that camera. Meanwhile, he was looking the camera in the opposite corner almost dead on as he opened his coat and loaded it up with our entire stock of Biggie Life After Death CDs. He kept glancing back to make sure the other camera wasn't getting him. To give him credit, that one wasn't. The other one, well, he might as well have been performing a scene in a film he was so much in the frame. I wish I had the video and could post it here. It was truly hilarious.

For the most part, our zeal for tracking down shoplifters kicked in on a case by case basis, and these two had endeared themselves to us by their sheer stupidity. Still though, we weren't going to lose our jobs over them. We'd be in trouble for letting them walk away with that much stock - those were double discs! So, we had to call the cops. Here is where the icing on the criminal mastermind cake comes in. We didn't have much to give the cops to go on - except that special order postcard the Mr. "Twista is a rap artist" had addressed to himself....but surely not....

Yep, you guessed it. Real name, real address. The cops went to his apartment, retrieved the CDs and we left it at that. And you know what? I ordered that cassette and mail him his postcard when it came in. He picked it. And paid for it.

Stalag Riddim - A Clarification

Someone asked me what the Stalag riddim was, which I mentioned when I wrote about Winston Riley, so if you don't know it, you can hear it in this song by the late, great Tenor Saw (Ring the Alarm - love this song). I think there are various incarnations of the Stalag riddim, and this one is called Stalag 17 - you'll hear it in loads of reggae music.

By the way, if you want to talk riddims - and really, who doesn't - here's the equally well known Sleng Teng riddim on Ninja Man's Murder Dem. (Or is it Ninjaman? I never know.) There are tons of different versions of this one as well, but I've always loved this particular song.



But if you really want to have fun with riddims, I recommend this website. I hope there is some kind of work I can do that requires me to play around on it, because I'm pretty much unable to do anything else at this point. Trust me, click on one of the riddims - good times await you.

British Things That Are Funnier Than Russell Brand

I miss a lot of things about living in Scotland, but not everything. Unfortunately for me, many of the things I miss the least seem to be following to America. First it was the Beckhams. Then came Cat, Ant and Dec. If Vernon Kay comes here, I'm gone. (On the other hand, Dermot O'Leary, you'd be most welcome, and if you need some place to stay, get in touch.)

So, you can imagine my horror when MTV announced Russell Brand would be hosting the VMAs. I have a passionate, almost irrational dislike of this man. He looks as though he's been the victim of some overzealous costume department, but he hasn't - he's actively chosen this look, which he describes as "S&M Willy Wonka." The Sun twice named him Shagger of the Year, and indeed he is a reformed sex addict (allegedly). Between all of the women who are seemingly lining up to vote for Sarah Palin strictly on the basis of her ability to menstruate and the fact that enough women were willing to have sex with this man to cause him to develop an addiction to it, I'm beginning to think that the sexists have a point. My biggest problem with Russell Brand, though, is that he’s just not very funny, and in terms of British comedy, he really lets the team down. I know some people (allegedly) find him *hilarious* but some of the funniest things I’ve ever come across are things I discovered across while living in Britain, and he’s definitely not one of them. So here, a list of British things that are significantly smarter and wittier than Russell Brand:

1. Brass Eye – Oh Brass Eye – involuntary masturbation in politics (seen here), good AIDS and bad AIDS, “captain, why are you being gay with your sailors?” – Brass Eye offended a lot of people, but it was BRILLIANT - even though sometimes you knew you shouldn't really be laughing. If you like The Daily Show and The Onion, you’ll love Brass Eye, although it’s hard to imagine anyone getting away with some of the things Brass Eye did in Britain on American television (like Nonce Sense). You can find plenty more clips online and there are some DVDs floating around.


2. The Office – Yes, I know there is an American version of The Office, and I’m told it’s good. The Office was such a big thing for awhile in Britain, and I loved watching it so much, that’s hard for me to bring myself to watch the US one. After all, it may be good, but it doesn’t have Ricky Gervais dancing, so really, what’s the point? I can never quite understand why there always has to be a “remake” – why not just show the original, which was truly a masterpiece?

3. Limmy – I love Limmy. His World of Glasgow stuff is fantastic, although it’s probably a bit specific and requires some knowledge of Glasgow. I'm undecided really about how well Limmy in general works for American audiences, but check out his video blog.

4. Private Eye magazine – Somewhere between The Onion and Mad, you can get this in some places in the US. If you’ve never picked it up, check it out. For the political satire lover in all of us.

In Private Eye, they often point out unintentionally hilarious things people say: on the website today, there is a quote from a guy on Wife Swap who said, “you can’t teach an old leopard new spots.” As an aside, this reminds me of the my favorite bit of unfortunate phrasing – several years ago, a music industry newsletter that shall remain nameless contained a brief article about country star Waylon Jennings losing his foot to diabetes. Without a trace of irony, the article went on to say, “he’s taking it all in stride.” Hahahahahha!

OK, well, in the interest of wrapping things up, let’s just say:

5. Little Britain (even if they have allowed Russell Brand to make appearances)
6. League of Gentlemen (walking the line between funny and disturbing)
7. The Mighty Boosh
8. Louis Theroux
9. Extras (HBO did show this one)
10. Irvine Welsh – OK, I know Irvine Welsh doesn’t naturally fall into the category of funny things, and many of the things he writes about are actually quite tragic and depressing (and yes, smutty). But, he has made me laugh out loud many times. Spud is a good example. Remember Spud’s job interview from Trainspotting?:



I’m sure I’ve missed many things, like Father Ted and Fawlty Towers, but to me, these shows/people are things that American audiences would definitely appreciate. They’re the British equivalents of our Daily Shows, Curb Your Enthusiams, and Arrested Developments. So, I’d like to return Russell Brand to sender and get more of this stuff, please. (And what else have I missed? Let me know!)

Winston Riley Productions

I haven't blogged in awhile, and sure, I've been busy, but part of the problem is that I'm losing hours a day to this record. It's fairly old..I think it came out in 2002 or 2003 and I've heard it maybe a million times. I've loved it long time, but my recent rapture with it started when I decided to write a profile of the Techniques label (I don't know why because if the success of my profile of Upsetter Records is any indication, my About.com readers seemingly have little interest in indulging my obsessions). The profile is still unfinished, along with a great deal of other work now, and yet I just keep listening and listening and listening. I'm overcome with the desire to shout about it from the rooftops, and here we are.

So, Winston Riley started out as a singer in the 60s in Jamaica. His group was called Techniques and they made their first record with Coxsone Dodd (I think). Actually, the Jamaican music scene during this time, with Coxsone Dodd, Studio One, Joe Gibb, Amalgamated, Lee "Scratch" Perry, etc is really cool and a really good story, but I won't bore you with it here (unless you like to talk Jamaican record labels, in which case I don't know where you've been all my life, but call me).

Anyway, Riley gave up on the singing and became a producer, probably one of the best (the Stalag riddim is his), and he also started Techniques Records. This comp puts together tracks he produced between 1986 - 1991. Ah, those golden days...the birth of dancehall. Sort of. This comp is a great introduction if you don't know much about it, and even if you do and you know these songs, this record just really hangs well together. What I'm saying is, you should get it now. And when you do, just try telling me these aren't the best tracks:

- A Fi Fly Out - Daddy Lizard
- Boops - Super Cat (a true classic - almost makes you forgive Super Cat for all of those ill conceived collaborations)
- Hol a Fresh - Red Dragon
- Bill a Spliff - Flourgon

Well, never mind, the whole thing is fab. Go on and get it. And then get this, too:

Community Organizers - A Refresher in Party Doctrine Might Be In Order

That picture above is Chad Bullock, a teen from right down the road from me in Durham who has won several national awards for his campaigns to convince kids not to smoke. Sarah Palin apparently thinks he's an asshole.

Despite the whole seeking out a political science Ph.D thing, I really hate the idea of taking to a blog and writing a bunch of stuff about politics. But after witnessing that display of the worst America has to offer at the RNC, I have to say something. Although it's difficult to choose the best worst part of Sarah Palin's speech, I keep coming back to the community organizer remark. You know the one - the one that made fun of Obama for helping people? The one that suggested that community organizers don't have any responsibilities? Yeah, that one.

First, there's the whole thing about insulting people that try to make their communities better places. Yeah, they don't do any real work! But there's not much I can say about that part that hasn't already been said better in this video blog by Jay Smooth on XXL.com. Check it out.

What I CAN say though is that not only was that comment insulting, it doesn't make any fucking sense according to Republican Party doctrine. You see, when it comes to social programs, which we all know Republicans LOVE to cut (even our girl Sarah recently cut funding for programs that help teen moms, because hey, she can afford to pay for her knocked up daughter's shit), the Republican argument says that these programs shouldn't receive federal funding because the administration of them is inefficient. The thought process goes that these federally funded programs should be replaced by COMMUNITY BASED PROGRAMS RUN BY PEOPLE IN THE COMMUNITY. Check the literature - this goes way back to the 1960s when the Great Society programs were being fought over and you will find it literally in every single piece of conservative writing about social programs. It is intrinsic especially to so called "compassionate conservatism." You want some suggestions of where you can read this stuff, you ask me. But, community organizers are the single most important ingredient in Republican pushes to cut social programs. They depend on people like Barack Obama to step up and take an active role in the community. They just also believe in making fun of anyone foolish enough to do so. Good plan!

Oh yeah, so don't get started on Mike Huckabee either, who stopped just short of whittling and chewing in a piece of straw during his speech.

Usher Clearly Trying to Make Me Throw Up

In a collision of smarmy self importance and light rod-ness that seems to have been crafted specifically to ruin my smoothie, Usher has announced plans for a "ladies only" tour called "One Night Stand." Naturally, the venues will be "intimate" (see what he did there?). Here are some of the other things Usher had to say about the tour:

"There's only a few artists that can pull that off." (perhaps - oh wait, do you mean you?)

"The ladies like to see that masculine build."

Oh you're right there, Usher. We're gagging for it. Or just gagging. You decide. (Hint: we're just gagging.)

More good news! Usher is planning his own line of ladies' lingerie and "men's undergarments." I guess I'll now have to add "owns Usher brand underwear" to my ever growing list of man deal breakers.

Wake me up when there's a Prince Paul ladies only tour. Unlikely, yes, but THAT I'd be ok with. (Could I show my age any more than suggesting Prince Paul as a good replacement for Usher?) Or my former econ professor ladies only tour. I'm going to resist the urge to make a supply and demand joke here. It's early.

Go Stetsa!

Just because.

And don't forget this!

I Gotta Get Out of This Place...

No, not that place. That's Glasgow. It will make more sense later. But, anyway, as anyone who knows me can tell you, I'm no big fan of where I'm living right now. I spent a great deal of my life counting the days until I could get out of here, and being back here again has passed the point where I can get take a deep breath and get on with it. Yeah, it's just bugging me big style. Of course, I know I won't be here much longer, and that's exciting AND stomach butterfly inducing. The butterfly part comes in because I have to decided exactly where I'm going. Sure, there's the Ph.D thing, and maybe Columbia, NYU, Glasgow, etc, will decide for me. But without a fully funded fellowship, I'm not up for keeping this academic thing going. Plus, other opportunities have been coming my way workwise that might be good - more writing jobs coming in, the Caribbean music thing, etc. So, the bottom line is, I might be facing a similar situation as I was about ten years ago - I could go anywhere. Although it occurs to me roughly 6 times a day to move back to Glasgow immediately (hell, I'm re-reading The Bedroom Secrets of Master Chefs at the moment, and it even makes me crave Edinburgh), I do have other places on the short list. But while I'm pretending to debate the options at will, what I really wonder is if I have the nerve to do what I did so many years ago now, when I packed a bag and moved to Scotland without knowing a soul. It's had me reliving that fateful first day in Scotland, so, here goes. Could I really do this again?

For some reason, I decided not to fly to Glasgow but rather to fly to London and take a train to Scotland. I had been to London once before but hadn't really gone beyond the city (save a day trip to Oxford), so I think I thought a train journey to Scotland would be "cool." The reality is flying to London and taking a train to Scotland is cool only if you enjoy fighting your way across London on public transportation while lugging all of your bags. The other reality of this journey was that rather than being exciting, it was like a long walk to the electric chair. I tried to plan my music for the trip perfectly, (including the Trainspotting soundtrack as we rolled through Edinburgh, how corny am I), but trust me, 5 1/2 hours or so is a long time to sit and think uninterrupted about a major life change.


I remember the train crossing the River Clyde and chugging past the small "Welcome to Glasgow Central Station" sign like it was yesterday. I was listening to The Pastels because it seemed appropriate. I was dizzy when I got off that train. I didn't know anyone in Glasgow and didn't know where I was going to sleep that night. But, my dad knew a woman from work who lived in Glasgow, and she said she'd meet me at the station and drive me around to show me the place a bit. She was three hours late meeting me. She came dashing into the station with purse with a post-it note that said "Heather" on it. In those three hours, I had peaked my head outside the station once, given away about 20 GBP because I didn't know about pound coins, and spent the rest of time sitting in front of the Burger King because it felt familiar.

When she got there, I was forced to abandon my Burger King safety blanket and head to the car with this stranger. I was thinking I would stay at a youth hostel, but she said her mother-in-law's friend had a B&B and that I should stay there. I didn't know what to do - I agreed. She showed me nothing of the city and drove me straight to the B&B, which I know now is in a slightly bad part of town and pretty far away from the city.

When I got to the B&B, I was introduced to the lady who ran the place - she's was probably in her 60s. She welcomed me, sat me down, made me a sandwich, and asked me if I wanted to watch a movie. Sure, a movie, why not? "Sorry, I've just got the one film," she said as she popped it in. Natural Born Killers. Really.

One interesting side note. About a week after I arrived in Glasgow, the woman who picked me up from the station was fired and subsequently arrested for embezzling a large amount of money from the company she worked at with my dad. Really.

Well, things got a lot better for me in Glasgow after that, but it was tough at first. The question remains, could I ride it out again?

(Sheesh, this is long, eh? Sorry, it's a bit cathartic! I've also just remembered I've added a twitterfeed to this blog, so this post should effectively scare people away from ever coming here again!)

Oh, Go On Then...

Pretending that my last post didn't prompt a weekend of watching this video over and over again would be futile. On the upside, the time investment wasn't a total waste as I think I have the choreography down pat. If this leads you to dig up Horace Brown, Silk and H-Town videos, well, I can't take responsibility for that. I'm not going to confirm rumors that I watched Snow's Informer video. Let's keep some dignity.

But, what I can confirm is that if you really want to have a good time, just read the comments YouTube users post with these videos. The fact that people are still commenting on, say, a CMB video EVERY DAY is startling enough (as of writing, the last comment on this video posted above was 4 minutes ago). The things they are saying are even more fun:

"They should be called SING me badd!" - oh, well played, windowHAT.

"The anthem of the high school rapist" - ehhh, Yabrau, log off, ok?

"Now I know exactly what to do to get my man" - fingers crossed, Fruitful Mind, fingers crossed.

Oh yeah, it goes on and on. Trust me, you're not getting any work done for days. Enjoy!

Light Rods Explained

This evening, I met up with Marisa, an old high school friend of mine. Sometimes, no matter how different you become as adults, there are just some stories that can only be shared with old high school friends, so we did some of that. We also did some reminiscing about the good old days and got onto the topic of little sayings we have that other people don't get. Everyone has these with their friends, but, despite our fondness for other inside jokes (like "sugar wafer, sugar wafer, sugar wafer...chocolate mint?!?!"), we both agreed that we wish our word "light rod" would enter the common parlance. We both know exactly what a light rod is when we see one, and neither of us know any other word that so perfectly sums up these men. So, here, my attempt to explain "light rod", in the hopes you can get some use out of it.

First, we've got to go back...way back....to, say, 1992 or 1993. Picture it. Emerald Isle, NC. Two 16 year old girls with dad's car, a newly discovered fondness for rum based cocktails, and a Rob Bass tape. On those hot summer nights, we had three main objectives:

1. meet boys
2. find alcohol
3. conceal activities one and two from Marisa's slightly older brother, who was roaming the same hunting grounds on the small island.

Now, before you get the wrong idea, we were all talk on the boy thing (mostly), but we did meet a lot of them. This led to Marisa's dad's car being stolen, but that's another story. Plus, we got the car back and her dad never found out - he still doesn't know, so don't mention it. But anyway, it was the meeting the boys thing that led to "light rod." There was this one little stretch of road that the kids would cruise up and down, back and forth (because that's what we do as kids in NC), and we'd frequently see the same people. One such evening, we had the car pulled over but were still sitting in it, when we were approached by a guy we'd seen around several time. He approached me and began whispering something in my ear. Here's how it went down from my perspective:

Him: Blahblahblah LIGHT ROD blahblahblah
Me: Uh....What?
Him: Blahblahblah LIGHT ROD blahblahblah
Me: WHAT?
*at this point, much to my alarm, i started getting ear tongued. it was mercifully brief, but because I was in a parked car and he was leaning in the window, I had little chance of escape so he got one last chance to whisper to me.*
Him: BLAHBLAHBLAH! LIGHT ROD!! BLAHBLAHBLAH!
Me: Light rod?!?!
Him: (in disgust) Fine, be like that, be like that.
Me: Um, ok.

I still have absolutely no idea what he was saying to me - I wasn't trying to be mean to him. But with this exchange, involving the original (and still quintessential) light rod, a new category of men was born. The easiest way I can think of to describe to you what a light rod is to tell you that all members of Color Me Badd (pictured above) were light rods. Remember the Color Me Badd lyrics:

I'm so glad you're my girl, I'll do anything for you...Call you every night and bring you flowers too?

Yeah, that is JUST what a light rod would say. It's not that girls don't like their boyfriends to be nice to them, but light rods are whiny, desperate for love and so "romantic" you need to take a shower - you kind of want to punch them in the face and steal their wallets. They're men who use lines. They're likely to have one of those little mustaches. If you come across a group of white male R&B fans, there's a good chance you've hit the light rod motherload.

You know, I give up. I don't think I could ever really explain to you exactly what a light rod is. Maybe you really did have to be there. All I can do is present to you this - light rods in action:

This One is for The Ladies

Well, ok boys, you can read it to.

But just between us girls, let's not get used, ok? With all due respect to a woman who I could never agree with but who has accomplished a lot, don't you find the suggestion that us girls are so wishy-washy that we're happy to trail along behind any one of us that gets plucked out of the pack extremely insulting? I know I do.

When women were fighting for the right to vote, one of the arguments favored especially by Britain's Conservative Party (but picked up by many anti-women's suffrage activists) was that women were just too silly and emotional to be counted on to make serious political decisions. The argument went that women would not vote on the issues but rather some frivolous factor, and that their votes would be enough to effectively change the outcome of elections, thereby leaving the public with a government not up to the job of leading. (As you might imagine, informal polling indicated that the majority of women would not vote for the Tories, hence their argument women would pick a bad government.) Some proponents of this viewpoint believed women were just too dippy to be trusted to vote on the issues, and others tried to couch it in "oh, don't you worry your pretty little head" terms.

Crazy, huh? Except, it seems like these notions still exist. Women may have the vote, but somewhere, a lot of people have decided that women would throw ideology out the window and vote for a woman - just because. They were wrong during the suffrage movement - show them they're wrong now, too.

The Night I Can't Remember - Or Forget

Have to admit, I'm stealing an idea here. I was reading the "5 Reasons I Should Quit Drinking" post on this blog - I always like reading other people's drinking stories. Seven years in Glasgow gives you lots of experience drinking, and I'm pretty sure I could keep this blog going for years on drinking stories alone if I was so inclined (ok, I'm not saying I'm proud, but there's a cultural thing going on there that could be - and maybe will be - a post in itself). Inspired (??) by the drinking stories I've read today, I thought I'd share my own, most humiliating story. Everyone has one that plays in the back of their head when they're deciding whether or not to have one more drink - this story is the one that haunts me. I hope you're not eating.

First, I should say I'm not going to mention any names of anyone else around at the time. OK, so, I was in London for work. I was working for a record label at at the time, and there was to be a big show for one our artists that night. The show in itself was a really big achievement, so it was an exciting day all around. Before the show, I had to spend the day with one of the PR guys taking another artist around to various radio stations. Let's just say that things got a little.... stressful. Adding to the perfect alcohol consumption storm of excitement and stress was the fact that a trip to London always means meeting up face to face with people you spend a lot of time on email and the phone with, and everyone wants to have a drink and a catch-up.

As the night went on....there was lots of catching up and lots of drinking. Honestly, I can't remember exactly when things started going wrong. I remember cans of Red Stripe and pints of Guinness. I remember sitting with a friend of mine during the show and her commenting that she wasn't going to remember any of it the next day. The major warning sign here was that, even with the knowledge that I had consumed a lot of alcohol, I BELIEVED I WASN'T DRUNK AT ALL. A red flag if there ever was one. The next thing I have a memory of is being backstage with a pint glass of whiskey in my hand. I don't remember drinking it - I'm pretty sure I didn't, but it surely wouldn't have mattered much at that point. Standing up to leave backstage and head to the van was the first time I remember realizing I was in fact highly intoxicated.

We piled in the van - some (American) artists from the label and various Scottish musicians. I know I performed a solo acapella version of Dire Straits So Far Away From Me, which is a bit confusing - it's not one of my go-to songs, as it were. Then, I don't know what I did to alert him, but I remember my boss, who was sitting next to me in the front saying, "Roll down the window! roll down the window" as he leaned across me, rolled down the window and pushed my head out. I threw up in my hands. I clearly remember thinking to myself, "oh good, I've managed to throw up in my hands. Maybe no one will notice!" Then, I made the decision that the best way to get rid of the evidence would be to casually run my hands though my hair.

Bad choice. I remember my boss saying, "Oh for fuck's sake! pull over the van!" He bundled me out and told them we'd walk the rest of the way to the hotel. I recall then throwing up again over a railing into Hyde Park as he laughed and laughed and laughed. I believe I cried and exclaimed, "This is the worst thing I've ever done!" (Stepping out into the cold night had brought me back to reality.)

The joke was really on me when I had to get up four hours later to catch a plane back to Glasgow. The flight was at Luton, which involved a major journey across London. I had to take refuge in a stall in a bathroom at King's Cross for awhile. I made it to Luton and my flight was delayed. Trust me, it was punishment enough.

There's no real moral to the story - I mean, don't get drunk, throw up in your hands in front of a bunch of people and then wipe it through you hair - you already knew that, right?

Louis Theroux and Pen & Pixel

In my never ending crusade to bring things up that are at least five years old, I come to Louis Theroux. If you don't know Louis Theroux, a brief introduction - he's a British journalist, very disarming and very funny - well, the best way I think of to describe him to the uninitiated is that if you like things like The Daily Show, The Onion, The Colbert Report and so on, you'll love Louis Theroux. He has a great series called Weird Weekends, and I believe the clip above was from a series called The Call of the Weird or some such thing. I've seen him cover things like mail order brides, wrestling - you really can't go wrong with Louis Theroux.

In any case, I thought of this clip today after being assaulted by an incredibly hideous graphic in my inbox that I was certainly inspired by those wizards of design at Pen & Pixel. I was working in a record store when this Pen & Pixel stuff started becoming popular, and I remember just turning the releases over and over again in my hands, marvelling that someone actually paid these designers for their work. I've always wanted to be a fly on the wall of the meetings at which the prints were approved, like, "yeah, this is good work. But see if there is anything else that can be encrusted with diamonds. And tell them we want a fluorescent green tray."

So anyway, this clip is hilarious (though warning, it's a bit long). It's also pretty interesting to see the cynicism of the designer. But let it be said that not everyone shares my Pen & Pixel aversion. The company is still going strong. Explain if you can.

Of Rice, Peas and Used Cough Drops

It's Friday, so how about a funny story? I have to admit it's not all that funny to me, but other people seems to find it *hilarious*. OK then, let's do this!

About, oh, maybe three months ago, my friend - let's call him...Matt - and I agreed to meet for lunch. When debating where to go, I suggested we head to a Jamaican restaurant. "Matt" NEVER wants to go to the Jamaican restaurant with me because he doesn't think he likes Jamaican food, plus he's a big baby and is scared of eating chicken on the bone ("I might choke! wah wah wah!"). Myself, I like to get down with the Jamaican grub often. So to speak. Well, this particular day, Matt wasn't feeling very well and was too weak to protest, so he mumbled something about, "I thought you might say that. Fine. Whatever." Whatever indeed. I drove, Matt sat and sucked on cough drops.

Well, we went to the restaurant, ordered our food, Matt ordered chicken on the bone and couldn't eat it, blah blah blah. The portions are huge, and we both had loads of leftovers. Handily, the food is served in takeaway containers. Matt graciously gave me his box of leftovers, because, you know, he hated it.

So, the next day, I decide I'm going to have leftover Jamaican food for lunch. I pull a box out of the fridge - apparently Matt's leftover box - and take a bite of rice and peas. Suddenly, I crunch down on something crunchy and sweet. I was immediately alarmed - it's good, but I'm not going to tell you that this restaurant is the cleanest I've ever been in. As I'm frantically calculating what this crunchy sweetness in the rice and peas could be, an image flashed through my mind. An image of Matt, removing a cough drop from his mouth and placing it on the side of his box. Yeah, that's right. I ate his used cough drop. Ewwwwwwwwwwww.

God, I'm almost sorry I brought it up. The memories - they're still fresh. Suffice it to say that I got rid of all of the leftovers. Even mine.

Matt pleads innocence, but I think he set me up. Don't worry. Vengeance will be mine. I'll let you know when Matt gets his. Mwhahahahhahhaha. No really - Mwhahahhahaha.

Shameless. Watch It. Now.

I've got loads of writing that I should be doing - which obviously means I'm surfing the internet instead. My friend in Scotland just promised to send me the last few seasons of this show - Shameless - on DVD, and I can't wait, so I've been watching clips on YouTube. This video of the old opening credits isn't the best quality, granted, but you'll get the point. Can't recommend this show enough, and fortunately, it's available on DVD in the US now - so buy it, Netflix it, whatever you do - but check it out.

I got the most fantastic piece of spam today - it said the sender was CNN and the subject was "John McCain Will Invade Your Vagina." Wow. Dear god, I hope this is some kind of mistake. Can I get some kind of retraction soon?

It seems like I shouldn't end with that, but yet, I got nothing else. Um, sorry. Watch the video.

Cheapskate Demos - Yes, Please

As I was logging in to write this, I saw a headline that Laurence Fishburne has joined the CSI cast, and of course that made me thinks of It of I Love New York 2 fame claiming he got the address of the house from "Larry Fishburne." bwhahahahhahhaha. Am I alone here?

Well, then, moving on. I got an email today from someone who reads the Music Careers website I write who was quite indignant that I suggested that a person should not spend a lot of money on recording a demo in an expensive studio. I should note this is not the first time I have gotten such an email on the same subject (usually, they're from people who work in studios - funny, that). Gotta tell you, I totally stand by what I wrote. Spending a lot of money on a demo is dumb. If you're going to be selling your recording - essentially releasing it yourself - while you're shopping it around (see more about this below), then investing in the recording makes sense. If you're not, then you're just wasting your money. Record labels know demos might be rough. It's kind of expected. No record label in the history of record labels has ever said, "wow, this music is kind of crap, but the demo is so professional! Draw up the contract!"

OK, you're right. I can't 100% prove that, but really. Come on.

Music is reeeeaaaaallllly expensive, and so when you spend money on something, you have to spend it wisely. Like buying me a present. Just kidding. But the spending wisely thing stands, and I spending tons of cash on a demo is not good spendin'. That's what I think anyway - you can let me know if you disagree. (Or if you want to talk about It from ILNY2, well, we can do that, too.)

(By the way, speaking of the ILNY2 cast, how creepy is The Entertainer on I Love Money? Ewwww, he makes me want to take a shower. I don't remember him being quite this bad on the other show.)

Scotland: Not in England After All

I'm having a long, technically troubled day, and really, I wasn't going to blog at all. Then, I went to buy milk and a conversation with the cashier and bagger gave me something to write about and an excuse to post a Limmy video.

First, yes, I got into an overly long conversation with the cashier and bagger, but that's another story. Suffice it to say that the fact that I used to live in Scotland came up. Here's a rundown of the conversation - it starts with one of my favorite questions ever (lucky for me, people ask me all time!):

Cashier: "What language do they speak in Scotland?"

Bagger: "They speak English! Scotland is in England, dummy!"

Me: "Well, they speak English, but Scotland isn't IN England. They're two different countries, but they're both in the United Kingdom."

Bagger: "No, you're wrong. England is the same thing."

Mind you, I had just explained that I spent seven years living in Scotland, but what do I know? Anyway, it made me think of this Limmy video. By the way, if you don't know Limmy, he's hysterical. This probably isn't his funniest, especially if British politics aren't your bag (understandable), but you can check out more on his YouTube channel. GTA IV video - highly recommended (if you're not easily offended).

And Scotland is not in England. Please believe me.

My Olympic Moment

Not a moment of Olympic glory, mind you, but maybe the moment when it became clear I could cross "Olympics" off my list of potential careers paths. Now, I'll tell you up front that this is not one of my favorite stories, but it keeps coming up, what with this whole Olympic swimming thing going on. Plus, it IS my friend Krista's favorite story, so Krista, this one is for you. (Well, I think it's her favorite. She's also fond of one that involves a curtain, but this one is definitely up there.)

When I was about 10 years old, I joined the swim team for the first time (under duress). I was incredibly nervous at my first swim meet, but I didn't know there was anything more to it then diving in the water and swimming. In other words, no one had told me about things like false starts. So, I climbed up on the block, and when I (allegedly) heard the buzzer sound, I dove in. I swam like crazy, and I thought I was doing great - after all, when I looked all around, I couldn't even SEE any other swimmers. Then, this net like thing fell on me in the water. My god, someone was trying to sabotage me! I threw it off and kept going - and it didn't seem to cost me my lead, because I STILL couldn't see anyone. I finished the first lap, and while I was doing my flip turn, I felt hands on my shoulders and someone trying to pull me out of the pool! I couldn't believe how blatant this sabotage was getting, but I tried valiantly to fight them off. No dice - they got me half way out of the water. That's when I realized the person pulling me out of the pool was my coach, who then pointed out to me that all of the other swimmers were still standing on the blocks.

Apparently someone - allegedly me - had "false started", and they had sounded an alarm to let all the swimmers know the race had to be re-started. I didn't hear anything - nor did I know such a thing existed, so I was the only one who didn't get out of the pool. The net was some kind of line they throw down to stop errant swimmers like me. So, I had to climb out of the pool and walk back around to the blocks, crossing in front of the gathered crowd - yes, they were laughing. Then I had to get back on the block and go again.

Last place. Well, I was tired.

And I still don't really know what a false start is.

Let's Try That Again

so, i have to admit, this is blog, take two. i have another blog...somewhere. it has the same name. i abandoned it. not a good start, right? hopefully, this one will go a bit better.

so, this blog will be, kind of, whatever. stuff from other writing jobs i'm doing, day to day things, yada yada yada - you get me.

so, also, in the future, every sentence will not start with "so."

phew, now we have that awkward "first blog" of the way. that's always a relief. see you soon.