Surprise! Not the shitty screen you're used to around here, I know.
I've been tinkering and made a few changes. First off, the look. It's still growing on me. . . kinda like a fungus. But I needed something to signal a break from the past. Ya see, apparently work is like Vegas. They tell me what happens there is supposed to stay there -- but have no fear. I ain't gonna disappear.
That's the second big change you'll notice. No more daily diatribes from street-level grunts eking out a living with electronic lumps on their shoulders, now it's all fiction all the time.
Call it Turd-Fiction. I've been writing the stuff for about three years now. Apparently it ain't worth the cost of the ink a big-time publisher might spend printing it, so I'll just foist it on you guys here, where the most you've got to lose is a couple minutes and a few brain cells.
Look for the first one soon.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
NEVER TOO OLD TO ROCK AND ROLL . . .
. . . or too young for that matter.
Back in May when I took Krusty to the Bludgeon Your Head With Someone Else's Fist Fest, I told the Littlest Loaf Pincher I'd take him to see any group he wanted to see. I knew full well that the kid's an old schooler and he'd never pick anybody who was still young enough to strut it on stage.
He didn't disappoint. He picked his favorite band. No way on earth those guys would climb out of their iron lungs long enough to rock a sold-out arena full of thinning mullets and rock-show virgins.
Boy was I wrong.
AC/DC can still bring it. And I aint talking some pansy-ass watered down, unplugged version of once-great stadium anthems. I'm talking two-plus hours of gut-wrenching, ball-busting, face-melting, throat-shredding rock and roll.
Sure, Brian Johnson sounds like Burgess Merideth filtered through a quart of rot-gut whiskey. But that's the beauty of the band from down under. You ain't gotta be able to sing to sing along. All you need is a throat and some wind. Lots of wind.
Their hair is thinner, and their bodies aren't quite as tight as they used to be, but the music never missed a beat. From the first lick of Angus' Gibson to the last cannon blasts of "For Those About to Rock," The sixty-something rockers danced, cavorted, and sweat -- lots of sweat -- their way through all their classics.
This may be showing my age a bit, but one of the best things -- aside from everything else -- was the fact that from the first notes of The Answer's opening set, to the trip out to the parking lot after AC/DC brought the house down, not one single four-letter syllable was uttered on stage. And that's refreshing in a world where posers think they have to be foul to be offensive. (What I muttered in the traffic jam leaving the show is another story.) Kids, take note. Lace you lyrics with thinly-veiled sexual innuendo and benign threats of violence if you wanna be a real rocker.
I'll be deaf for days, but it was worth it. Not only for the first-class rock show, but for the look on the LLP's face as he banged his head old-school. Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go gargle with old razor blades. It's the only way I can think of that Brian Johnson recuperates between shows.
Back in May when I took Krusty to the Bludgeon Your Head With Someone Else's Fist Fest, I told the Littlest Loaf Pincher I'd take him to see any group he wanted to see. I knew full well that the kid's an old schooler and he'd never pick anybody who was still young enough to strut it on stage.
He didn't disappoint. He picked his favorite band. No way on earth those guys would climb out of their iron lungs long enough to rock a sold-out arena full of thinning mullets and rock-show virgins.
Boy was I wrong.AC/DC can still bring it. And I aint talking some pansy-ass watered down, unplugged version of once-great stadium anthems. I'm talking two-plus hours of gut-wrenching, ball-busting, face-melting, throat-shredding rock and roll.
Sure, Brian Johnson sounds like Burgess Merideth filtered through a quart of rot-gut whiskey. But that's the beauty of the band from down under. You ain't gotta be able to sing to sing along. All you need is a throat and some wind. Lots of wind.
Their hair is thinner, and their bodies aren't quite as tight as they used to be, but the music never missed a beat. From the first lick of Angus' Gibson to the last cannon blasts of "For Those About to Rock," The sixty-something rockers danced, cavorted, and sweat -- lots of sweat -- their way through all their classics.
This may be showing my age a bit, but one of the best things -- aside from everything else -- was the fact that from the first notes of The Answer's opening set, to the trip out to the parking lot after AC/DC brought the house down, not one single four-letter syllable was uttered on stage. And that's refreshing in a world where posers think they have to be foul to be offensive. (What I muttered in the traffic jam leaving the show is another story.) Kids, take note. Lace you lyrics with thinly-veiled sexual innuendo and benign threats of violence if you wanna be a real rocker.
I'll be deaf for days, but it was worth it. Not only for the first-class rock show, but for the look on the LLP's face as he banged his head old-school. Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go gargle with old razor blades. It's the only way I can think of that Brian Johnson recuperates between shows.
Monday, October 19, 2009
WAR PIGLETS
Anyone who knows me, knows I gotta rock. The iPod is full of stuff from AC/DC to Zeppelin, B.B. King to van Zant, Marvin Gaye to . . . he's in a class by himself. If I'm awake, there's a tune floating around my big, empty nugget, and I'm on-stage in a sold-out arena somewhere rocking the mic and melting faces with my axe.
But with me, air guitar and off-key warbling is as far as it goes. Just ask any of my daily groupies.
The LLP has inherited my penchant for performance, but he's doing something about it. He's been whacking the skins since he was eight.
This weekend, he and 60 other like-minded future head-bangers rocked the stage at the St. George Church Fair. As venues go, it ain't Madison Square Garden, but the competing noise from the Tilt-O-Whirl aside, it's a great start.
All these aspiring musicians owe their start to Baton Rouge Music Studios. A local music school that's thinking out of the box. Lessons just weren't enough for director Doug Gay. He wanted to find a way to give kids a chance to shine and his Young Band Development Program does just that.
I'm gonna shut up now.
If you like that. Check out all the bands on my Youtube Channel.
But with me, air guitar and off-key warbling is as far as it goes. Just ask any of my daily groupies.
The LLP has inherited my penchant for performance, but he's doing something about it. He's been whacking the skins since he was eight.
This weekend, he and 60 other like-minded future head-bangers rocked the stage at the St. George Church Fair. As venues go, it ain't Madison Square Garden, but the competing noise from the Tilt-O-Whirl aside, it's a great start.
All these aspiring musicians owe their start to Baton Rouge Music Studios. A local music school that's thinking out of the box. Lessons just weren't enough for director Doug Gay. He wanted to find a way to give kids a chance to shine and his Young Band Development Program does just that.I'm gonna shut up now.
If you like that. Check out all the bands on my Youtube Channel.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
LAUNDRY SEASON
Back in May when I penned my opus on the seasons, I left one out. It wasn't intentional, and technically, it's not a season most photogs mark. I'm talking, of course, about Laundry Season.
At Camp Polisher, Laundry Season begins in early October and lasts all the way through mid February. It is characterized by the sudden onslaught of piles of sweaty, smelly clothes in the overflowing baskets in the laundry room.
Living in a house with three dudes, Mrs. Polisher is very acquainted with our various fragrances. But Laundry Season has an air all it's own. Ya see, it coincides with the onset of wrestling season.
It's a time when normally smelly teens kick it up a notch. Krusty can sweat through five sets of clothes a day, not counting the cute little spandex number his mom calls a onesie.
It's a season of blood, sweat, and tears -- usually just beyond the laundry room door. But in Laundry Season you do what ya gotta do for the pin. Krusty is headed into the season in the best shape of his life -- 138 pounds and about 9% body fat. He's hoping to be the spoiler at the city and state tournaments this year.
The road to the top goes right through his arch rival, Cade Leblanc of Zachary. To watch these two go at it, you'd swear they were fighting for the hand of a fair maiden or a king's ransom. And whatever they do to each other on the mat, there's always a hug and a handshake when it's over.
That's probably my favorite part of Laundry Season, the sportsmanship. No trash talk. No endzone dance. Just six minutes of two sweaty guys manhandling each other, and a little mutual respect when the final bell rings.
That, and an assload of smelly sweats.
At Camp Polisher, Laundry Season begins in early October and lasts all the way through mid February. It is characterized by the sudden onslaught of piles of sweaty, smelly clothes in the overflowing baskets in the laundry room.
Living in a house with three dudes, Mrs. Polisher is very acquainted with our various fragrances. But Laundry Season has an air all it's own. Ya see, it coincides with the onset of wrestling season.
It's a time when normally smelly teens kick it up a notch. Krusty can sweat through five sets of clothes a day, not counting the cute little spandex number his mom calls a onesie.
It's a season of blood, sweat, and tears -- usually just beyond the laundry room door. But in Laundry Season you do what ya gotta do for the pin. Krusty is headed into the season in the best shape of his life -- 138 pounds and about 9% body fat. He's hoping to be the spoiler at the city and state tournaments this year.
The road to the top goes right through his arch rival, Cade Leblanc of Zachary. To watch these two go at it, you'd swear they were fighting for the hand of a fair maiden or a king's ransom. And whatever they do to each other on the mat, there's always a hug and a handshake when it's over.
That's probably my favorite part of Laundry Season, the sportsmanship. No trash talk. No endzone dance. Just six minutes of two sweaty guys manhandling each other, and a little mutual respect when the final bell rings.That, and an assload of smelly sweats.
Monday, September 14, 2009
KICKOFF WEEKEND
It was a big weekend at the Turdpolisher ranch. Sunday, the kick-off to the NFL season found me planted in front of the tube to watch Drew Brees and the New Orleans Saints dismantle the Detroit Lions. Saturday, LSU slapped down the Commodores of Vanderbilt. I watched that one firmly ensconced in my beer-chair. Friday night brpught another round of high school football highlights to shoot.
But team turd kicked off the football season Thursday night. It was the season opener for the St. Jean Vianney 8th grade Gators, and the first game of the Littlest Loaf Pincher's senior season.
He's taken the DNA I've given him (which ain't much) and worked his way into a starting position on the defensive team -- outside linebacker at that.
The Gators took on some big-ole boys from the land of milk and hayseeds. Hell, their cheerleaders outweighed our offensive line. But that didn't stop the black and red from spilling a little Bear blood on the turf.
Gators lost the first half, but the offense took control in the third, and kept the ball for the full eight minutes, and forced the Bears into two 3-and-outs in the fourth. All-in-all, a decent outing against a team way out of our league. Final 32-6.
LLP? He had a decent game. Three tackles, a couple assists, and made a touchdown saving tackle.
Actually, the big guy steam-rolled him, but LLP held on until he brought him down.
I gotta start feeding that boy, or give him some rocks to carry in his pants.
But team turd kicked off the football season Thursday night. It was the season opener for the St. Jean Vianney 8th grade Gators, and the first game of the Littlest Loaf Pincher's senior season.
He's taken the DNA I've given him (which ain't much) and worked his way into a starting position on the defensive team -- outside linebacker at that.The Gators took on some big-ole boys from the land of milk and hayseeds. Hell, their cheerleaders outweighed our offensive line. But that didn't stop the black and red from spilling a little Bear blood on the turf.
Gators lost the first half, but the offense took control in the third, and kept the ball for the full eight minutes, and forced the Bears into two 3-and-outs in the fourth. All-in-all, a decent outing against a team way out of our league. Final 32-6.
LLP? He had a decent game. Three tackles, a couple assists, and made a touchdown saving tackle.
Actually, the big guy steam-rolled him, but LLP held on until he brought him down.I gotta start feeding that boy, or give him some rocks to carry in his pants.
IT'S A CRAPPY JOB . . .
X-Ray Ted threatened to do it. But somebody beat him to it.
From Newsblues.
From Newsblues.
There's an all-points manhunt underway at Raycom's WXIX-19-Fox in Cincinnati (Market #33), where staffers are on the lookout for a mystery dumpster who struck under cover of darkness.
According to an internal memo from Assistant News Director Marita Matray: "Last night, someone took a dump on the floor of the men’s room. Yep, you understand correctly. Someone took a big ole’ number two smack dab in the middle of the floor of the men’s restroom. No one on the 10pm crew seems to know who did it. The cleaning crew cleaned it up."
A furious General Manager Bill Lanesey has vowed to flush out the mad crapper: "With God as my witness, if I find out who did this, I will fire you. With prejudice!"
Not surprisingly, neither Lanesey nor News Director Steve Ackermann responded to our email inquiries. The culprit, we assume, remains on the loose, perhaps plotting a follow-up attack on Lanesey's desk.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
THE CRADLE WILL ROCK
My apologies to EvH and Mr. Roth for the title of this post, but there's a new king of rock at Camp Polisher, and it wears a bright red mohawk.
Who knew the Littlest Loaf Pincher had pipes?
He's been banging the skins for more than five years now. Two years ago, he hooked up with a group of guys from the Baton Rouge Music Studios and, with the help of the music school, formed High Voltage -- a rag-tag collection of rockers from across Cap City. At age 13, the LLP is the old man of the group.
The group lost it's singer for the summer. Not good when the band has only seven weeks to put together a set for Summer Slam.
And Baton Rouge Music Studios upped the ante this year. At stake, studio time to record an original tune -- 50 CD copies of said tunage complete with artwork and liner-notes.
Without a singer, things didn't look good for the guys from High Voltage. At the first rehearsal, LLP filled in on Mississippi Queen and TNT, and never looked back.
At Summer Slam, he did two songs from behind the drum kit and stepped out front to close the show.
Now, is someone could just learn to stand back from the stage to shoot the damn thing, maybe you won't have to strain to hear him next time.
Oh, the contest? Out of nine bands, High Voltage took the Runner-Up slot to a smoking band of high-schoolers. Hat's off to Time Traveler. You guys (and gal) rawk.
Who knew the Littlest Loaf Pincher had pipes?He's been banging the skins for more than five years now. Two years ago, he hooked up with a group of guys from the Baton Rouge Music Studios and, with the help of the music school, formed High Voltage -- a rag-tag collection of rockers from across Cap City. At age 13, the LLP is the old man of the group.
The group lost it's singer for the summer. Not good when the band has only seven weeks to put together a set for Summer Slam.
And Baton Rouge Music Studios upped the ante this year. At stake, studio time to record an original tune -- 50 CD copies of said tunage complete with artwork and liner-notes.
Without a singer, things didn't look good for the guys from High Voltage. At the first rehearsal, LLP filled in on Mississippi Queen and TNT, and never looked back.
At Summer Slam, he did two songs from behind the drum kit and stepped out front to close the show.
Now, is someone could just learn to stand back from the stage to shoot the damn thing, maybe you won't have to strain to hear him next time.
Oh, the contest? Out of nine bands, High Voltage took the Runner-Up slot to a smoking band of high-schoolers. Hat's off to Time Traveler. You guys (and gal) rawk.
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