Yeah, I’m pretty sure I made that word up. Or assumed it was a word and just went with it.

Reflections on the Wisconsin Dells One: Dellfishness

The hissing ladies were just to the right of where this pic ends

Any time this sheer number of regular folks descend upon an attraction-filled destination like the Wisconsin Dells one gets a good glimpse of the true selfishness of our fellow man and woman. Exhibit A: The lazy river is a river-like pool that begins and ends in the same place – so it’s a loop, not unlike a racetrack with curves and turns and so on. In the middle are generally places for people to sit and sun themselves or fake scenery – often mountains, cliffs and rocks where tiny waterfalls drop into the chlorine current. And there is a current – water pushes people lounging on one and two seater tubes (you may remember when they used to be actual auto, truck and tractor tire inner tubes and the havoc that wreaked upon your skin over a nice hot day in the sun – there were no two-seaters back then) in an endless and lazy loop around and around. Of course, there are a limited number of tubes to be had and here on the sunniest of sunny Fourth of July weekends, the ratio between tube lovers and tubes had inched up quite a bit.

One of those beautiful days, I had the experience to witness two middle to late-middle aged women (both saggy, tan and bird-like), who had nabbed two of the most coveted double tubes (those with one hole closed – a perfect safe spot for very little kids and anyone who wants to stay that much more out of the water), and set those two super tubes up to block the sun – to create a little shady spot just for them! Unsuspecting and water-logged folks would walk up and grab one of the tubes, one assumes to use it in its intended manner, only to be verbally accosted (better yet, stabbed, shot, bitten) by the two women who would quite literally hiss in unison, “We’re using those!” That in such a manner that the hopeful tuber would quickly drop the tube and slink away. Brutal, that.

There’s a lot of negativity in places that try so hard to make us happy. Theme parks, water parks, carnivals and fairs all harbor lots of very negative energy, mostly because we being forced and then trying too hard ourselves to HAVE A GOOD TIME! I never went here as a childless person and I think I know why. These places are for families for the most part because very few adults can be entertained by an acre or two of pools, water slides, fountains, lazy rivers and so on beyond a very limited amount of time – no matter how much liquor or other mind-alt you put in to the mix. Kids, however, generally could be left there indefinitely until they became emaciated, shriveled and the water froze. So the general mood of most families is a mix of crazed, impatient kids and exhausted and ultimately pissed off parents. Fun!

I can’t tell you how many times I met eyes with another spent dad and in that split second we exchanged this:

“This is fucking crazy.”

“Totally fucking crazy.”

“I want to kill my kids.”

“Kill mine while you’re at it.”

“We should get drunk.”


“See ya.”

“Okay, bye.”

And we’d each shuffle off toward the next attraction. “Attraction” – that’s good. Like files attracted to feces or moths to open flames.

Fun Boy Terry

I came across The Colour Field’s Virgins and Philistines, saw the cover, knew I had listened to it some, but dropped the needle and was shocked at how fucking great it is. Terry Hall’s truly most fully Terry full-length album. Cruel Circus, Thinking of You, Hammond Song. Trinity for Terry. Some crap also. Sorry. (Not really.)

Fun Boy Three. Hello, I’m Luke, and I’m going to enjoy myself now. First off, bad – ain’t what you do – hair for Terry on the cover, but circling with a couple of Specials – Lynval, Neville, all’s right with the world. Really very Terry album as well – the right link between the Specials and solo Terry. Awesome, original, tribal – terrific. Certainly as cool as Bananarama ever done as well. They’ve taken over the asylum.

Melle Mel ain’t rockin’ so well.

Oh, Gods, he is at it again. Mel Gibson, the troubled, dumb-addled, bajillionaire bonehead has added to his credibility smashing actions yet another rant that smacks of good old-fashioned dumbass racism. You read this stuff and wonder just how stupid the man is and then how on earth someone that stupid can rise that high in hollywood. Not that acting necessarily calls for genius intellect, but you’d think he’d be just a little smarter, have just a bit more class than your average hillbilly. In his defense, however, one must look at his father and the man who raised him. If the nut don’t fall far from the tree, then the nutbag tree deserves some blame for this. It is interesting that if I said what he did, first of all no one would record it and for the most part the world wouldn’t care, but we really do expect public figures to have the smarts to keep that shit on the down-low. And if they don’t, they really should not be public figures. They are paid handsomely so they should not act so downright ugly. Fade away, Mel. There are far better actors who can stand in for any future projects.

7-14-10 – it’s gotten much worse. Really sick, twisted mind worse.

la musica la musica de Grand Funk

grand funk railroad: good singin’ good playin’

grand funk railroad good singin' good playin' cover jpgRight on both counts, right? Frank Zappa produced little hitless gem of an LP. Honest, unabashed rock and roll – from the jumpin’ can you do it to son don’t let ’em take your gun, the coolest, rockinest song ever sanctioned by the NRA. Stylistically, the record fits tight-glove-like smack-dab in the middle of 1976. Takes me back to my 7 year old brother painting




on to the garage door. (Spelling his. Repainting Dad’s) But this album speaks to me of that era deeply. good singin’ good playin,’ honestly, right?

La Musica La Musica de Los Altered Images

Pinky Blue, See Those Eyes, Forgotten, Little Brown Head, Song Sung Blue…I Could Be Happy. Altered Images: Pinky Blue. One of the eighties, truly eighties, thinking boo tune albums. Monstrously precious and well-timed cuteness. Musically awesome. Martin Rushent producing. I wondered recently if it was the inspiration to Pinky Dinky Doo (?) the cartoon storytelling punkin what with the brother and the time travel or whatever. It’s too precious to be in heavy rotation but recognizably right on! What to do. What to do.

Carrol Matthews

Jim Carroll, poet, tortured artist, pulled off an absolutely kick ass rock album with Catholic Boy. He had a minor hit with People Who Died, great tune within a storehouse of great rock songs. A real glimpse into legitimate tragic greatness. One of the very, very, very few rockers whose lyrics can really be called poetry. He began a poet. I got to see him open for The Boomtown Rats. Brilliant, that.

I was in a poetry class once and everyone in the class had the opportunity to choose a modern poet, get to know him or her, and introduce them to the class in whatever way they wanted. Granted, it was a college class and so many of the youngsters were so very enamored with their rocker-heroes, but god if half didn’t want to choose a freaking musician. There are hoards of extremely talented poets out there but half were just like, “Dylan’s a poet, I mean, his lyrics are like total poetry.” It was tough going, no doubt, for the professor. I would have bitch-slapped them and sent them to the library.

I chose William Matthews. Check him out. Brilliant modern poet, very visual, sets up scenes that you’ll hold in your head for a long time. I should have chosen Jim Carroll just to be an ass.