Election Days of Yore: 

A Retrospective of the Last 20 Years

Presidential only -- I'm not counting the mid-term elections.

 2004 -- This was the year I learned a valuable lesson -- don't listen to the echo chamber. Take any predictions with a grain of salt huge fucking barrel of salt. Huge.

I was living in my studio apartment in St. Paul and working at the temple. I was pretty psyched as Election Day approached, because I thought G-Dubs would be defeated. All my friends and coworkers seemed sure of it. They were all like, "Yeah, Kerry's got this. Let's face it, everyone is sick of this Bush/Cheney bullshit." I knew exactly one person who was voting for Dubya (a single-issue voter whose issue was Israel), and even she thought that Kerry probably had it in the bag. That's what the mood was like in Minnesota; nobody really thought Bush would get in again. 

Election Day came, and it was clear early on that Bush was ahead. I was flabbergasted. "But....but....what about the war no one wanted? The phantom WMDs? Bush is an idiot! Cheney is evil! I thought we were all on the same page? Hello?" 

I went home that day and didn't bother to turn on the news. Instead I smoked some herb and watched a DVD I'd checked out from the library, Novocaine, a black comedy starring Steve Martin as a dentist and Helena Bonham Carter basically reprising her character from Fight Club. It was a distraction. When the movie was over, I switched on PBS to see that Bush was fucking winning the election. I was beyond bummed, so I decided to watch Novocaine again. (I didn't have cable, so PBS was pretty much the only station that came in on the antennae. Needless to say, I rented a lot of DVDs back then.)

2008 -- A much better year all around. When Election Day arrived, I stopped off to vote after work, then came home. I was invited to my friend Katy's election party, so I texted and said I'd be there a little later, I just wanted to lie down first. You know how it goes, I didn't think I'd fall asleep, but I did. Two hours later I woke up, like, shit! It was dark and my windows were open, and I could hear what sounded like cheering and celebrations outside in the distance. I threw on a sweatshirt and sprinted the few blocks to Katy's. As her house came into sight, I ran up looking all wild-eyed and disheveled. There were some partygoers hanging out on her porch and I just yelled, "HEY! Did Obama win?" They responded with raised cups and "woo-hoos," and I was like, "YES!" 

The party was awesome, by the way. Katy's parties always kicked ass. After a while we all walked over to 26th and Lyndale to join a massive crowd of people who were celebrating outside Treehouse Records, holding Obama signs, cheering at cars who honked in support, and basically just looking at one another and going, "Holy shit, it's happening!" 

It's one of my favorite Minneapolis memories.  

2012 -- This election was pretty boring compared to the others. I mean, I remember the jokes and soundbites: Mitt Romney's dumb "binders of women" comment in the Presidential debate and Biden openly laughing at Paul Ryan throughout the VP debate. But other than that, it was all rather even keel. I miss uneventful elections like this one. Give us more of those, please, where we're not all out of our minds with terror. 

One notable fact--it was John's first time voting in a Presidential election (he became a citizen in 2009). So that was something. After we got home from the polls, I changed into my swimsuit and hit the pool, since we were living in Baton Rouge and it was like 85 degrees outside. 

2016 -- Oh, fuck that. Fuuuuuuck that. I'm not going there.

2020 -- I thought Trump was going to win and I refused to look at my phone or watch TV or listen to any news at all. I popped some Xanax, made a cup of Tension Tamer tea, and took to my bed, where I binged episodes of Mr. Rogers Neighborhood on YouTube for the entire day. I highly recommend this method for dealing with stress. It does help. (Xanax is optional, but Tension Tamer tea is essential.) 

And Trump LOST the election, just like he deserved. We still didn't get rid of him, but at least the fucker was out of the White House.

2024 -- Oh shit, I don't know. I'm tempted to do what I did last time: unplug my brain and spend the day in the Neighborhood of Make Believe. I did get invited to some watch parties, so I may hit those. 

Why this song? 

'Cause I dig it, baby.

 Before I begin, lemme try something here:

SIMON REID SIMON REID SIMON REID

Okay, now that I have some of the internet's attention....

The Simon Reid saga was recently featured in an episode of a TV series called Love Rats, airing on British TV in early 2024. Then last month, a major streaming service picked up the series, exposing the Simon Reid story to a wider audience (I don't think Love Rats is scheduled to air in the US, but you never know).

I can always tell if there's been significant mention of Simon Reid in the media just by checking the Top Locations in the "Audience" section of my blog stats. The UK is where most of my traffic comes from, of course, while the US always seems to be in second place, followed by an assortment of other English speaking countries, as well as a smattering of European ones.

But then, whenever a show like Love Rats airs, the blog stats on my "Audience" get a little more diverse and interesting. Although the UK is usually still in first place as far as my readership, in the past few weeks I've had readers in countries as varied as Lithuania, Guam, Pakistan, Vietnam, and Gibraltar. Now, seeing the Gibraltar stat made me laugh; one of Simon's more ridiculous lies was that he was involved in Operation Flavius back in 1988, helping to thwart an attack on Gibraltar by the IRA. Hahahahahaha.

Say it with me:

Another thing that usually happens is I start getting a barrage of messages on social media from people who saw the doc and looked me up. Most of the time they just get in touch to say something like, "Sorry you went through that, glad Simon got nailed." But I also get a fair amount of people writing to share their own experiences of being scammed, lied to, and/or exploited by a romantic partner, friend, colleague, or stranger. While stories like that piss me off and bum me out (especially if there's no justice or happy ending for the victim), this time they actually got me thinking back to the way I felt that time (sixteen years ago now!) in 2008 after learning that my "boyfriend," (ugh) Simon Reid, was a big fat fraud. 

It's a time I remember well; a time that I was very much "in my feelings," as the kids say. I dealt with my initial shock by going into hibernation mode for two days. I turned off all the lights and closed all the blinds in my apartment, partly to hide away from the world, partly because it was August and hot as balls. I then sank into a Malbec and Xanax haze (please don't try that combination at home, or anywhere) and blasted a bunch of angry songs. I don't remember all the music I played, but I know for sure "Liar" by Sex Pistols, Liz Phair's "Fuck and Run," and "You're Breaking My Heart" by Harry Nilsson were in the mix.                

Long story short, the latest media blitz and wave of messages I've received has inspired me to make a Spotify playlist. I started with the songs I mentioned above, then added to them with a carefully curated selection of my favorite "FUCK YOU!" tracks. It was fun! I have to say, though, many of the songs don't really reflect my attitude towards Simon anymore. Time heals most wounds, and I no longer have that same rage when I think of him and what he did to me. The thing that does royally piss me off, however, is knowing about all the chaos and hurt Simon Reid still causes anyone unfortunate enough to get close to him. And that's never ever going to change.

 

With all that out of the way, here's my playlist. It's dedicated to Simon Reid, but created for anyone who's ever been emotionally beat up by someone they trusted. And the sentiments expressed are not anti-men or otherwise gender specific. Whether you are female, male, or somewhere beyond the binary, you'll probably find something that resonates with your experience. Or maybe just discover a semi-obscure artist you end up loving, like I did! See, I couldn't find Debbie Harry's version of Liar, Liar on Spotify, but I did find a great cover of the song by a band with the awesome name of My Expansive Awareness. I've been listening to more of their stuff and really digging it. Apparently they're so indie that they don't even have a Wikipedia page, but I did manage to find their website and learned that they are "a neo-psychedelic garage band," and that they're originally from Spain (hey, like Alec Baldwin's wife! Heheheh jk jk she's a big fat liar, too).  

"How you say.....coo-cumber?"

So for anyone in the throes of heartache and in need of catharsis, here. Have some of mine. 

Women of America?
Stop fucking this dipshit. 

Bagging a Kennedy might look impressive on paper, girls, but let's be real. For every John-John in that family, there are at least a dozen asshats like alleged rapist William Kennedy Smith, Michael Kennedy, who shtupped his teenage babysitter and died skiing into a tree playing football with a water bottle, and now that fuckhead RFK Jr. 

Don't think I'm knocking the entire Kennedy family, by the way. I'm cool with the decent ones in that clan. It's just that--as with most old school Irish Catholics--they breed like rabbits, and when you have that many kids, you're gonna have a fair amount of fuck-ups in the mix.

The weird thing is, I actually saw RFK Jr. speak back in 2003, a few months before I moved to Minnesota. I got together with some of my work friends from the Indianapolis Art Center and we all walked over to Park Tudor, a ritzy private school just up the street from IAC, where Robert F. Kennedy Jr. was giving a talk about a clean water initiative he was heading up at the time. (I did manage to find at least one article about this speaking tour from way back when.) My friends and I were all young, idealistic Democrat women excited by the prospect of seeing one of the Kennedy scions speak on the environment, a cause we were all passionate about. I don't actually remember a lot about the talk he gave, other than thinking that RFK Jr. wasn't a real dynamic speaker, but then again it was a pretty lowkey event in a small auditorium. One thing that does stick out in my memory is that about ten minutes into his speech, RFK suddenly stopped and said that the stage lights were hot and he needed to take off his sweater. It was awkward to watch him silently struggle out of this big thick sweater he was wearing, but it also humanized him. His lack of polish was sort of refreshing.   

The question is, was he just as batshit back then, and nobody knew? I mean, what a weird journey from environmental crusader to the Trump supporting, roadkill collecting, anti-vaxxer conspiracy theorist he is now. 

I haven't even been able to read about his dead animal fetish, stuff like that is just way too disturbing for me and I don't want to know. The anti-vaxxer thing just makes him a delusional moron, as does his association with Trump. In fact, there was just so much bizarre bullshit coming out about RFK that when the Olivia Nuzzi story broke, it was almost a relief. Like, oh--just an old-fashioned political sex scandal! For once, the guy does something normal.  

I admit it, I'm nervous as hell about the 2024 election. As optimistic as I try to be, I have PTSD from 2016 and I don't assume for a minute that the Democrats have this all sewn up. I'm hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst. That's why I'm grateful to RFK Jr's "digital affair" with Nuzzi for lightening the mood. (Seriously, am I the only one who thought for a split second that "digital affair" meant that they were caught sticking their fingers in each other? Apparently it just means they exchanged beaver shots and dick pics....not that I believe it stopped there, but whatever.)  

Now Olivia Nuzzi has been sacked from New York magazine and is accusing her ex Ryan Lizza of blackmail, RFK Jr. is claiming the whole brouhaha was a Fatal Attraction-type thing and Nuzzi just couldn't keep away from his geriatric penis, and Cheryl Hines is leaking stories to People magazine about a possible divorce (yeah, she's not going anywhere), and I'm just enjoying the whole shitshow. I say, keep it coming! 

     

 This is the day the GOP has made,
let us REJOICE and be glad!

Question: WHERE has Mark Robinson been all my life, and how did I not know about this freak until his posts from Nude Africa (is that not the most hilariously awesome name for a sketchy porn site?) hit the news cycle a few days back?

"Please God, let me remember my RedTube password."

But wait, there's more! 

"Mein Kampf is a good read," the user, dubbed 'minisoldr,' wrote in a thread seeking book recommendations. "It's very informative and not at all what I thought it would be. It's a real eye opener." Publicly, Robinson has also criticized the civil rights movement of the 1960s and attacked prominent Black people in harsh and offensive terms--for instance, calling Michelle Obama a man and an "angry, anti-American, communist black lady" who speaks "ghetto" and "Wookiee."   -- WaPo, 9/20/24

You know all the rightwing chuds who are always saying, "But I can't be racist, I have a Black friend!" Mark Robinson is that Black friend. 

Right, white people? 

Yep, Mark Robinson sure is...special. The real question is, will all the crap that's come out hurt Robinson's chances in the NC gubernatorial election? Not with the MAGAts; those brainwashed mouth-breathers will vote for anyone who has the stamp of approval from Orange Jesus. As always, it's in the hands of the Democrats and the undecideds. 

By the way, who the fuck are these "undecideds?" Apparently they exist, but I've never met any. The thing that really scares me is the possibility that there are no undecideds, just stealth MAGAts who are (rightfully) too embarrassed to admit that they agree with Trump. And that's a horrifying thought.

In the meantime, however, I look forward to additional leaks (ewwww!) from this self-proclaimed Black Nazi. I don't know about you, but I'm eager for more Letters To Penthouse-style creative fiction about all the "threesums" he's had with his wife's sister and the mysterious "round-bottomed hotty" (who's most definitely from Canada).

  

 

Tsk. And to think, I was once a (casual) fan of Russell Brand. 

 

I'll admit it, I even used to fancy the bloke. I thought he was sexy and funny in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, and I found him witty and intelligent in interviews. Then in the late aughts, something dire happened: I saw those uncensored naked photos of him getting arrested in Picadilly Circus. Suffice it to say, my crush on him did not survive seeing those images. ("Hashtag iykyk," as the kids say.) Even so, I still saw Get Him To the Greek when it was in theaters in 2010. I recall it being funny, but apparently not funny enough to make any sort of lasting impression, since all I remember about it now is that Mad Men-era Elisabeth Moss had a significant role. 

Yep, there she is, and that's all I remember about GHTTG.

I definitely stopped following Brand by the time he did that Arthur remake, which I most certainly did NOT see, because why the hell would anyone remake Arthur? Dudley Moore is the only Arthur, and Liza Minelli is the only Linda, and that film belongs in 1981 where it can remain wonderfully endearing and forever perfect. Don't fuck with it.

The next thing I knew, it was 2020 and Russell Brand was suddenly an anti-vaxxer with a podcast promoting QAnon talking points and Trumpian rhetoric, and I was pretty damn disappointed in him. I mean, when I was a fan back in the aughts he seemed so punk and irreverent, the furthest thing from the rightwing lapdog he's reportedly morphing into. And it's not so much that he's done this 180, it's more the realization that he was just a big fucking phony all along. The fact that he's also recently "found Jesus" and embraced Christianity is pretty suspect too, and yet very fucking predictable, considering that he got Me-Too'd last year with some serious rape allegations. What a perfect time to get religion! Just blame woke feminism for your legal woes, praise the Lord, and bro out with Tucker Carlson and the other psychopaths.

If ever you find yourself onstage praying next to Tucker Carlson, 

you may want to question the life choices that led you there.

The one positive spin I can put on this is that now that he's gone to the dark side, there is absolutely no going back for him. If he wants to act again, he has to settle for starring in terrible "anti-woke" fare alongside Z-listers like Kevin Sorbo and the Quaid brothers. Also, he better be able to afford good security detail for the rest of his existence, because otherwise he will be getting up close and personal with his new MAGA admirers on a daily basis. Hey Russell, shopping for pumpkins at the farmer's market? Here comes a smelly adult in an American flag shirt who wants to talk to you about LGBT "groomers." Taking your kids to school? Hi, this paranoid schizophrenic would like to discuss how to stop the Deep State using Jewish space lazers to mine rare tellurium oxysalt minerals in South Africa so Pat Sajak can prevent Chelsea Clinton from giving birth to the next Antichrist on Columbus Day, 2026. 

So yeah, have fun with all that, ya twat!

What did I learn from the uncensored version of this photo? 

That Katy Perry is definitely NOT a size queen. 

     

Well, this is terrible/sad/spooky/coincidental. I was just writing about the guy 12 days ago. Not cool, universe. Not cool.

No cause of death has been reported, but he had a brain aneurysm in 2001 at the age of 43, so perhaps there were some lingering issues that affected his health. Hopefully, his passing was peaceful. 

I really meant it when I said the man is a GOD. 

Just afloat on the sea

Find myself on a page of history

You know as I ride along

There's a memory of a song

About you,

And where you're meant to be....

One of his masterpieces (on the feel-good side)....

And I found a fantastic live performance of "Is It Like Today" from Late Night With David Letterman.

 

Dave always recognized musical chops, so I'm not surprised that he was a fan. 

 

"And you know how it feels 

To get too high 

Too far

Too soon...."

Well, it's February 29th and I wanted to post something for the sake of posterity and also because I don't think I've ever posted on Leap Day before.

I was watching the Father Ted episode "Hell" the other day, that one where they're stuck in a camper van with the priest who's basically a frustrated theater queen (played by Graham Norton), and was reminded of this song and how much I love it. Ergo....

How did I not remember that Karl Wallinger was in The Waterboys (pre-World Party) because OMG I worship that dude! He's basically a god as far as I'm concerned. 

Anyway. Enjoy your Leap Day.

Please and Thank you.

 Art - 2023

Here are a few of my paintings from this year. It's only a fraction of the work I did, but perhaps by this time next year I'll want to share more.

"Incoming"

acrylic on canvas 

2023

"Spirit/Fractal"

acrylic on canvas

2023

"Year of the Rabbit" 

acrylic on canvas 

Jan. 2023

"The Candyman" 

acrylic on canvas 

2023

This? This goofy pink bastard gave me fits. First of all, that nose was a real bitch. How do you paint a nose that resembles a buttplug that's supposed to look like a nose? 

My inspiration was the packaging for Cosmic Candy, a discontinued Pop Rocks-type confection from my childhood. To my delight, around the time I was working on this painting, I discovered that there's a trippy foreign film of the same name that centers around a benzo popping neurotic with an obsession for the titular candy. 

I'll write more about that in the near future. Trust me, it's a whole thing.

IT'S THAT TIME OF YEAR AGAIN!

Behold, my Spotify Wrapped! Yes, that brilliant marketing gimmick that gives us all an opportunity to do a little navel-gazing, and I'm here for it.

My genre sandwich for 2023 (on multi-grain bread, natch):

Top 5 artists: 

My top song is no surprise to me, since I've been playing it at least once a day since its release:

Speaking of.....

More selections from my Top 20: 

You know how once in a while an artist comes along that makes you think, "Holy shit, I must now listen to everything they've ever recorded?" This year Noah Kahan (see above) was that artist for me. His catalog does not disappoint; he's like the love child of Paul Simon and John Prine, if such a union were possible.

Psst, wanna guess the Velveeta in my Indie/Classic Rock/Country/New Wave/Indie Pop sandwich? Buried way down my Top 100 playlist, number 82 to be exact....

You don't have to guess, I've got it circled. Hey, if digging the occasional hair metal power ballad is wrong, I don't want to be right. 

 "Something is fucky on this planet." 

That Love Has Won documentary is entertaining in a trainwreck kind of way. It's the story of a cult started by a former McDonalds manager--Amy Carlson, a.k.a Mother God--which, I had no idea a basic middle-aged white bitch could start a cult; I thought you had to be of east Indian descent to get people to buy into your woo-woo guru claptrap bullshit. I guess I haven't been paying attention. 

Really though, the best thing about a cult that considers Robin Williams a divine messenger is that they seriously consider Robin Williams a divine messenger, leading to many moments of unintentional hilarity. 

"We have another message for you disgusting bitches and assholes from Robin Williams." 

 ---One of the Love Has Won cult members addressing viewers on a livestream

Also, there's a scene that could be straight out of a Mr. Show sketch. It's a clip where Mother God's minions are sitting around the living room doing a livestream, looking all glum-faced while their dear leader is heard raging in the background like a disturbed toddler. Then one of them speaks up and explains: 

"I have taken Mother's joy by making her the worst quesadilla in all of creation."

Yeah, I'm totally incorporating that sentiment into my everyday life. 

"Dear, you took my joy by not turning on the poop fan in the bathroom after you dropped a deuce." 

The possibilities are endless.

Back to the Robin Williams thing, though. Now, I might be able to buy the dude as some enlightened soul based on his performances in films like Dead Poets Society, Fisher King, The World According to Garp, Good Will Hunting, et cetera. But being an actor with a pretty varied filmography, he made some absolute stinkers, too. Was he a holy messenger in the crappy Hugh Grant comedy Nine Months, for example? 

Yeah, I'm not feeling it. 

Anyway, the documentary is broken up into a three-part series and it's now available on Max, if you're into that kind of thing. It's really....ehrm....something. 

  

 HALLOWEEN QUICKIE 

In honor of Halloween (or Samhain if you're old school Gaelic), I thought I'd pay tribute to a few horror films that scared the pants off me over the years. 

FRIDAY THE 13th (any of the early installments, but particularly Part II)

I wasn't seeing these in the theater as a kid, because I was only like seven years old when the first one was released. But then around 1981 something awesome happened, and my parents and every other family in our neighborhood got premium cable (including HBO, natch), so of course we young'uns were forever trying to sneak glimpses of forbidden R-rated flicks like the raunchy teen comedy Porky's and any and all of the gory slasher flicks that movie studios were cranking out at the time. And the undisputed Mack Daddy of all '80s splatter fests was definitely Friday the 13th. 

My favorite memory of this film was in the summer of 1982 (yeah, I don't know why I have a freakish memory for dates, I just do) and I was over at Ridley and Rianne's house, the next door neighbor kids I was tight with. It was also the summer I was finally allowed to play outside after dinner, which was a HUGE deal to me at the time. Anyhoo, Ridley and Rianne had a babysitter one night--Joe P--a teenager who lived in the house behind us. Yes, people hired teenage boys to babysit back then; parents of Gen Xers were chill like that (plus everyone knew everything about everyone in our 'hood, another hallmark of that era). Personally, I thought Joe was super cute and I was a bit jealous several years later when I heard from my Mom that he'd gotten engaged. Maybe I thought somewhere in the back of my mind I'd have a chance with him one day, because that's how teen girls think. But whatever. 

So I was hanging at Ridley and Rianne's that evening, and since their parents were off at a fondue restaurant or a key party or whatever hip '80s parents did on their nights out, the three of us kids tuned in to HBO to try to catch us some Friday the 13th Part II while Joe was preoccupied with a phone call (probably chatting up some girl). It was the part in the movie where a female camp counselor goes skinny dipping alone in the lake at night (as you do), and a male camp counselor happens by and takes the opportunity to steal her clothes. The skinny dipper chick climbs out of the lake butt naked to chase the guy through the woods (as you do), then the dude steps into a rope trap that snatches him up and he's hanging there upside down from a tree when the girl catches up to him and she's all, "You prick, why'd you steal my clothes? Oh, you're caught in a trap. Hold on, I'll go find something sharp to cut you down with." And the girl wanders off into the darkness and the guy is hanging there like a slab of beef and that's when Joe finally notices what we're watching, and he's like "Hey you little shits, turn that off! These two are about to get killed. Believe me, you DO NOT want to see it." And the three of us beg to differ--we kind of do want to see it but we're also more than a little freaked out by the whole scene, so we turn off the movie and Joe sends us outside. So we're sitting on the driveway and it's just beginning to get dark, and we're of course discussing the skinny dipping and the guy hanging upside down in the trap and the almost-killing we just saw, i.e. "How do you think the killer gets them?" et cetera.

Then suddenly from out of the near-darkness, a wadded-up candy wrapper whizzes by our heads and the three of us shriek and jump about eight feet into the air. We turn to see Joe standing behind us, laughing his ass off. Ah, Joe. What a loveable scamp you were.

Epilogue: Years later I watched the film in its entirety and finally learned how Jason Voorhees offed the clothes stealing guy and the skinny dipping girl. It was gross, but strangely anti-climactic. In my mind, I think I'd built it up to be something pants-shittingly horrific, when really it was just a run-of-the-mill, slasher-flick knifing for both of them.

That said, the theatrical trailer still gives me the willies: 

WHEN A STRANGER CALLS

Yes, it's the original "The calls are coming from inside the house!" babysitter movie, and it fucking terrified me back in the day. It's got some odd pacing though, because the really messed up shit happens during the first 20 or so minutes of the film, and then it turns into sort of a police detective thriller, then ramps back up again in the final 10 minutes. But as a kid who did a lot of babysitting between ages 12 and 17, When a Stranger Calls scared me shitless, yet I never missed it when it was on TV. 

One time I was around 16 years old and at the home of the Walkers, some family friends that I babysat for frequently whenever I was home from boarding school. I put their young son to bed and I was channel surfing when I came across WaSC, and made the ill-advised decision to go ahead and watch it, even though I knew damn well how much it freaked me out. (Did I mention it was late at night and the Walkers' living room had several large windows? Yeah.) So I watched the whole movie, got predictably spooked, then when it was over.....the telephone rang. I sat there on the couch for a minute, thinking how fucked up it would be if I answered the phone and no one was there. I answered it anyway though, because--duh--it was 1989, caller ID didn't exist yet, I was the babysitter, and therefore expected to answer the phone. So I picked up the receiver, said "Hello," and....dead air.

Dun, dun, DUN!  

Spoiler alert: I'm still alive to tell the tale, obvs, and so is the Walkers' (now 36 year old) son. Still, the asshole who called and hung up on me that night? Fuck you, whoever you are.

CARNIVAL OF SOULS

Damn, I love this one so much. LOVE. IT. 

It's not exactly horror movie sort of scary; it's more Twilight Zone-esque, which--truth be told--is my favorite kind of scary. If you haven't seen it....for God's sakes, why not? 

None of the trailers do it justice. The film is BRILLIANT. 

One of my favorite bits of trivia: Sidney Berger, the actor who plays John the creepy neighbor, ended up having a long and distinguished career as a theater director and drama professor at the University of Houston. He died in 2013, and by all accounts was a real sweetheart of a guy. 

Read his obit here. 

But go watch Carnival of Souls first. 

Well I wanted to make this list longer, but I procrastinated and now I'm all out of time, kids. Time to go put on my costume and get spooky! 

  

 Sinead was just a badass.

I agree with this statement from Moz. He is 100% correct. The music industry and the media treated Sinead like absolute dogshit, and then one day she's gone and immediately we are waist-deep in sniveling, insincere, bullshit "tributes" from the same people and corporate entities that mocked, degraded, and dismissed her while she was alive. 

So I won't go there. I'll just say that Sinead O'Connor was a true artist and a genuine feminist, and how fortunate everyone--particularly Gen Xers who grew up with her music and her no-fucks-given, THIS-is-how-you-stage-a-fucking-protest badassery--was to have her around, unapologetically pissing off the mainstream, and doing her thing on her own terms.

I remember the Bob Dylan tribute concert in 1992, taped shortly after Sinead's infamous appearance on SNL. The show was an all-star event featuring (among others) Tom Petty, Eddie Vedder, John Mellencamp, Tracy Chapman, Willie Nelson, June Carter Cash and Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson, Chrissie Hynde, Sinead O'Connor, and of course Dylan himself. It was a concert to celebrate Dylan's 30 years in the music industry (which is funny to think of; while it's certainly a milestone, 30 years doesn't seem as long now as it did back then). 

My Mom taped the concert when it aired on PBS and we watched it together. It was generally a good show, but the thing that everyone remembers today is Sinead getting booed by the audience when she took the stage for her performance. Mom and I were appalled. We both had the same reaction: WHY THE HELL is an audience at a FUCKING BOB DYLAN SHOW booing an artist for staging a protest? Had they ever heard "Masters Of War," "Chimes of Freedom," "The Times They Are A-Changing".....literally ANYTHING Dylan has ever recorded or performed? Or perhaps they got lost on their way to an Anita Bryant concert? 

Seriously, FUCK that audience, every single one of them. 

   Kris Kristofferson has my undying respect for standing up for her.

But enough about that. Sinead was an amazing artist and deserves to be celebrated for her work, too. 

It's kind of a bummer that "Nothing Compares 2 U" is considered her signature song, when (in my opinion) it's so inferior to everything else she recorded. Take "Mandinka" for instance, which still sounds as fresh and innovative as the first time I saw the video on 120 Minutes back in the late '80s.

"I'm dancing the seven veils, want you to pick up my scarf...."

And this one, from the summer of 1991.
Gorgeous, devastating.
(The video features her firstborn son, Jake.)

But the quintessential Sinead O'Connor song in my mind will always be "Emperor's New Clothes." It was my favorite then, and still my favorite today. It just says it all really, encapsulating her whole career and so many other aspects of her life.

"Everyone can see what's going on.
They laugh 'cause they know they're untouchable,
not because what I said was wrong.
Whatever it may bring,
I will live by my own policies,
I will sleep with a clear conscience,
I will sleep in peace."

***Mic drop.***

 GONNA PUT IT IN THE WANT ADS!

Hot damn, I dig this song. It really "slaps," as the young people say.

Recently I was paging through a couple Rolling Stone issues I held on to from the early nineties. One of them is the July 11, 1991 edition featuring Rod Stewart and Rachel Hunter on the cover (incidentally, I had this cover pinned to my dorm room bulletin board my senior year of high school, alongside a Mickey Rourke calendar--hey, it was 1991).

Early '90s fashion wasn't the best, but I do miss the vibrant colors.

I loathe all the beiges and greys and muted tones of today.
 

The other RS issue I saved from that era is the one with Beavis and Butthead on the cover, dated August 19, 1993, my 20th birthday, thankyouverymuch. 

Yes, I kept this one, too. What can I say? My sense of humor is very refined.

I love vintage Rolling Stone. The interviews, the political commentary, the endless Joe Camel cigarette ads....but my favorite section just might be the classifieds. Man, you could find the goofiest, most random shit in the back of magazines during the pre-internet days. 

Without further ado, here are some of my favorite classified ads compiled from the two issues above.

Putting the "ASS" in Classified! I love that "Lusty audio tales of Good, Clean SIN" 

is listed along with that KNOW GOD PERSONALLY ad. 

Come to think of it, $3.99 seems like quite a bargain 

for a book that promises to "change your life forever." 

More bang for your buck than Dianetics, anyway.

Not sure what the hell ECKANKAR is, but at least their brochure is free.

That's more than you can say for HOT LIVE GIRLS and HOT GAY TALK.

How much do I love that an ad touting "Unfulfilled fantasies explored" 

is listed under the SELF IMPROVEMENT banner? Well, a lot.

BUSINESS OPPORTUNITIES! Is it me, or does that address painting turnkey business 

up there sound almost legit? More so than starting your own travel agency at home. 

That one's gotta be a scam.

I'm thinking that you'd have to be pretty bored to call the DIAL-AN-INSULT line.

Like, so bored you're practically dead. 

Of course, it's the PICKING UP GIRLS ad that stands out here. 

"Video with attractive girls revealing secrets and showing you what works!"

"Why should some guys get all the girls!" 

(I am 100% sure 'Cybernetics' is a legitimate business and the girl-getting techniques 

advertised on the video are completely and totally effective. 

Too bad the errant exclamation point ruins its credibility.)

This MISCELLANY section is, like, really miscellaneous. 

Relationship tips, a Grateful Dead hotline (in Crystal Bay, Nevada! Hey, I've been there!), 

a gay dating service, Radio Caroline tapes, 

and WICCAN WISDOM, STRENGTH AND POWER 

from "Gavin & Yvonne." 

There it is, that VISUALIZE WHIRLED PEAS sticker! 

I ordered one of those and stuck it on the bumper 

of my 1988 Toyota Corolla back in the day. 

Most people who noticed it found the sentiment hilarious, 

but some folks totally didn't get it. 

One lady followed me into a Kroger in Carmel to ask me what it meant. 

I tried to explain the joke....really though, how the hell do you explain it 

to someone who doesn't get the "whirled peas" pun in the first place?

I think I just confused her even more.  

So much to say about this one. First of all, SHIRT NOT CENSORED! 

But if "FUCK" is too risque, you can order the also available, 

PG-rated "SHUT THE HELL UP" version. But why would you? 

Don't half-ass it, dude. The design is in 3-D....whatever that meant 

in the early nineties....so you might as well go balls-to-the-wall, F-bombs away!

Also it comes in NEON, because of course it does! 

Oooh! Here are some even shoddier T-shirt designs! 

BART KILLED KENNEDY (?) and DO THE NASTY.

Also, BEER IS FOOD--BUSH SUCKS--WHO CARES--SHUT UP.

Hey, do you think The Underground T-Shirt Factory is still in business?

'Cause I'm ready to order! 

Okay....I really have no idea. 

I heart explosions? And, uh, waves? 

And SEX. Well, at least that one is clear.

I appreciate the anti-Rush Limbaugh sentiment, but what the hell is that drawing?

Is Rush sucking on a lawn dart? Taking a giant hit off a weirdly shaped bong? 

So many questions. 

But the "This is your cat on crack" shirt? I'd legit wear that. 

It's completely bizarre and no one would get the joke today, but I don't care. 

It's brilliant in its randomness and I must have it.