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In this Blog Bit I am going to post a couple of items about Chicks and a couple of items about Flicks. WHY? What’s the connection? Well, obviously, they rhyme! Do I gotta ‘splain everything to ya? Sheesh!
This first item here is a woman/man comparison. Of course, anyone who’s been alive for longer than 4 years already knows that comparing women to men is like trying to compare passionfruits to bananas. (No. I ain't gonna ‘splain that one to ya. Yer on yer own, damn it!)
Should this list strike you as sexist, keep in mind that it was sent to me by my good friend the Flying Aardvark. And she is a she. So, don’t blame me. Blame she. (She’s that winged anteater hovering over your house right now.) I didn’t make up any of this stuffs; I only just agree with it.
CHICKS:
Men Are Just Happier People...
NICKNAMES
If Laura, Kate and Sarah go out for lunch, they will call each other Laura, Kate and Sarah.
If Mike, Dave and John go out, they will affectionately refer to each other as Fat Boy, Godzilla and Four-eyes.
EATING OUT
When the bill arrives, Mike, Dave and John will each throw in $20, even though it's only for $32.50. None of them will have anything smaller and none will actually admit they want change back.
When the girls get their bill, out come the pocket calculators.
MONEY
A man will pay $2 for a $1 item he needs.
A woman will pay $1 for a $2 item that she doesn't need but it's on sale.
BATHROOMS
A man has six items in his bathroom: toothbrush and toothpaste, shaving cream, razor, a bar of soap, and a towel .
The average number of items in the typical woman's bathroom is 337. A man would not be able to identify more than 20 of these items.
ARGUMENTS
A woman has the last word in any argument.
Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.
FUTURE
A woman worries about the future until she gets a husband.
A man never worries about the future until he gets a wife.
SUCCESS
A successful man is one who makes more money than his wife can spend.
A successful woman is one who can find such a man.
MARRIAGE
A woman marries a man expecting he will change, but he doesn't.
A man marries a woman expecting that she won't change, but she does.
DRESSING UP
A woman will dress up to go shopping, water the plants, empty the trash, answer the phone, read a book, and get the mail.
A man will dress up for weddings and funerals.
NATURAL
Men wake up as good-looking as they went to bed.
Women somehow deteriorate during the night.
OFFSPRING
Ah, children. A woman knows all about her children. She knows about dentist appointments and romances, best friends, favorite foods, secret fears and hopes and dreams.
A man is vaguely aware of some short people living in the house.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY
A married man should forget his mistakes. There's no use in two people remembering the same thing!
FLICKS:
OK, this next stuffs I clipped from a newspaper many, many years ago. It originally appeared in the New York Times but I found it reprinted in either the now defunct Los Angeles Herald Examiner or the the now defunct Santa Monica Evening Outlook:
Flicks Flaunt Own Sets Of ‘Facts’
Things you would never know without the movies:
* During all police investigations it will be necessary to visit a strip club at least once.
* All beds have special L-shaped cover sheets that reach up to the armpit level on a woman but only to waist level on the man lying beside her.
* All grocery shopping bags contain at least one loaf of French bread.
* It’s easy for anyone to land a plane, provided there is someone in the control tower to talk you down.
* Once applied, lipstick will never rub off – even while scuba diving.
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* The ventilation system of any building is the perfect hiding place. No one will ever think of looking for you in there and you can travel to any other part of the building you want without difficulty.
* You’re very likely to survive any battle in any war – unless you make the mistake of showing someone a picture of your sweetheart back home.
* The Eiffel Tower can be seen from any window in Paris.
* A man will show no pain while taking the most ferocious beating but will wince when a woman tries to clean his wounds.
* If a large pane of glass is visible, someone will be thrown through it before long.
* If being chased through town, you can usually take cover in a passing Saint Patrick’s Day parade – at any time of the year.
* When paying for a taxi, don’t look at your wallet as you take out a bill – just grab one at random and hand it over. It will always be the exact fare.
* Mother cooks eggs, bacon and waffles every morning even though her husband and children never have time to eat them.
* Cars that crash will almost always burst into flames.
* The police chief will always suspend his star detective – or give him 48 hours to finish the job.
* Medieval peasants had perfect teeth.
* It is not necessary to say hello or goodbye when beginning or ending phone conversations.
* It is always possible to park directly outside the building you are visiting.
* A detective can only solve a case once he has been suspended from duty.
* You can always find a chain saw [or an axe] when you need one.
FLIX:
Last week, The Countess sent me a link to the following article. I responded by saying:
This came at a GREAT time because the next thing I've been planning to post on my "Stuffs" Blog will be titled "Chicks & Flicks" and this piece will fit in perfectly with the other three I've already set aside. I had two articles relating to chicks but only one for flicks. Now I have two for each and the thing is balanced and ready to go. (I knew I was waiting for something, just didn't know what it was.) So, thanks so much, Countess. You just drove in the winning run with this screaming line drive to the gap in the bottom of the ninth! What are you going to do now that you've won the World Series? I know, yer... "going to Disneyland!"
The Countess e-mailed back:
“And I did it all without the use of steroids!!”
You see, I have always surrounded myself with the world’s wittiest people. Mostly so that the world’s most beautiful women won’t be able to get at me and rip my clothes off me and---
* * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *
Oh, sorry. My mind just kind of drifted off there.
Anyway… where was I? Oh, yeah, FLIX. OK, so here’s the article The Countess directed my attention to. You go ahead and read this while I go back to my daydream:
Guess Who’s the Third Most Popular Movie Star in America Today?
by John Nolte
No, it’s not any of those celebrities we’re told are stars. DiCaprio and George Clooney didn’t even make the top 10. Neither did Ashton Kutcher, Sean Penn, Brad Pitt, Seth Rogen, Matt Damon, Will Farrell, or Tom Cruise.
Every year for about 15 years now, Harris Interactive has conducted a nationwide poll and asked a very simple question: “Who is your favorite movie star?” And every year since the taking of the poll one particular individual has placed in the top ten — 13 of those years in the top 3.
This year, 2,388 U.S. adults were surveyed and this star rose three places to tie Will Smith for third. Only Denzel Washington and Clint Eastwood rank as more popular.
One last hint before the reveal: This star is the only actor in the history of the poll to rank posthumously:
JOHN WAYNE
Here’s the 2009 rundown:
Denzel Washington
Clint Eastwood
John Wayne
Will Smith
Harrison Ford
Julia Roberts
Tom Hanks
Johnny Depp
Angelina Jolie
Morgan Freeman
In 2007, Time Magazine’s Richard Corliss (a film writer I respect) got it kinda wrong when Wayne ranked #3 back in 2007:
“Nothing radical there, except that Pitt, Jolie and, oh, Tom Cruise were among the missing. …
“Forget the youthquake. What America really loves is… old. Whatever Wayne represents - the Old Testament God, a Mount Rushmore face with a permanent scowl, the craggy soul of Frontier or Sunbelt America[.] …
“Will Hollywood take any lessons from this poll - say, to make movies with, and for, older people. Nah. The moguls have read the small print in the Harris poll, and noted that it was weighted for many variables, but not to mirror the average age of moviegoers.”
Maybe Hollywood has taken a lesson, or at least might now that two guys over 55, Liam Neeson and Clint Eastwood are headlining two of the biggest smashes of 2009, “Taken” and “Gran Torino.”
Corliss seems to dismiss Wayne as representing God, the Old Testament, etc… You know, all that cornball stuff the rubes go for. The truth is, and this kills his critics to no end, what John Wayne represents is a canon of marvelous films, a half-dozen of which are outright masterpieces, followed by a dozen classics and a slew of wildly entertaining crowd pleasers that have already lived on in reruns and home video long past “Syriana” and… What films were nominated last year?
Wayne was the most popular and enduring star while alive and remains so today because he also represents honesty, justice, truth, liberty, America, fighting for what you believe in, integrity, chivalry, and most importantly in this awful era of the metrosexual, Wayne represents good ole’ give-a-punch/take-a-punch/have-a-drink-and-laugh-about-it-later masculinity.
And while those who didn’t make the list this year, those oh-so nuanced, so-called stars who boy-face their way across the screen emoting Chomsky-loving, Zinn-worshipping recipes for war, poverty, famine, slavery and genocide, let’s remember that the Duke kept it simple and direct with a code best summed up in his final film, “The Shootist” (1976):
“I won’t be wronged. I won’t be insulted. I won’t be laid a-hand on. I don’t do these things to other people, and I require the same from them.”
That, my friends, is what you call a recipe for World Peace.
And don’t let anyone ever let you forget that John Wayne happened to be one of the finest actors to ever grace the big screen.
Pretty cool stuffs, eh? I loves me some Duke: True Grit; The Shootist; North To Alaska. And if you’ve never seen The Quiet Man, all I can say is: UHP! YER AN IDIOT!
Even you chicks who think you don’t like Duke Wayne movies will probably dig The Quiet Man. Sean Thornton (da Duke!) returns to his Irish homeland after retiring from the boxing ring. There he falls in love with a fiery Irish lass played by the red-headed Maureen O’Hara, and he has to fight her mean ‘n’ nasty brother if he wants her respect as well as her hand in marriage. CLASSIC STUFFS! And the screen chemistry between O’Hara and da Duke is pure dynamite.
When I was a young and sensitive man, my favorite actor was James Dean. But as I grew old and cantankerous, Da Duke took over da top spot.
I remember an old interview in which John Ford was asked what it was like directing John Wayne and Lee Marvin together in the movie ‘Donovan’s Reef.’ Ford replied that no one directed that picture; he was there attempting to just keep those two actors sober enough to deliver their lines.
But my all-time favorite John Wayne story again comes from something I clipped outta one of those two aforementioned defunct newspapers:
Elsie And The Duke:
A colleague has scolded us for quoting from a guidebook that said that fun-loving actor John Wayne once “lived with – legend says – a cow on the balcony” at the St. James Club on Sunset Boulevard. We admit we were a bit skeptical ourselves. Real Estate columnist Ruth (“Hot Property”) Ryon says her research shows that the correct legend is that the Duke merely “brought a cow up to his penthouse once so he and his cronies could have fresh cream for their Irish Coffees.” Now, that makes sense.
Early during the five year period in which The Countess and I played Cowboy and Cowgirl (not in THAT order!) we went on a Western film viewing spree. That’s why I’ve seen more Western movies than the Federal government has taxpayer dollars for bailing out every Tom, every Harry, and every Dick.
We concluded our Western marathon by self-publishing (in a manner of speaking) a guide we titled ‘Calamity Cat’s And Black Cole Kid’s Uncomplicated Guide To Western Movies For The Simple-Minded Cowperson.’ In the back was a section called ‘Trivial Questions And Trivial Answers.’ Under the category of ‘Favorite Cowboy’, The Countess said, “Roy Rogers (John Wayne a close second).” But I said, “John Wayne (Roy Rogers a close second).” If only The Countess and I could have resolved our differences, we would have gotten married and had horses.
CHIX:
Alright this last thang is something I accidentally stumbled upon while surfing the net without a net. Found it at one of those “highbrow” [*Cough!-Cough!*], fake boob, low I.Q. sites. I am interjecting my own bracketed black-hearted comments in black after each entry. It’s not what I would choose to do, but it’s what you’d expect from me:
15 THINGS YOU SHOULD NEVER SAY TO A WOMAN
By Emily McCombs
Jan. 23, 2009
"Can I kiss you?" These words may sound sweet, but most women say the phrase is actually a bad idea. It's no secret that men and women communicate differently. What that means for men is that every once in awhile we accidentally wander into a conversational minefield and find ourselves blown to bits before we even realize what we said wrong. To help you (and us) out, we asked real live women [as opposed to fake dead chicks?] to put together a cheat sheet of verboten phrases and explanations so that you never again end up on the couch over a phrase as seemingly innocuous as "You look fine." (Hint: She wants to look better than "fine.")
15. What did you do to your hair?
If you're asking because you don't like it, it's too late. And if you're asking because you really can't tell, pay more attention!
[Besides, it should be obvious what she did to her hair. She teased it. And now she’s teasing you.]
14. Why aren't you married?
There is no right answer to this question. Either nobody's asked us, or we just don't want to be. Either way, is it any of your business?
[Agreed, not a good question. Asking her why she isn’t married is like asking her to surrender her 5th Amendment right not to incriminate herself about the dead boyfriend in the closet, the dead fiance stuffed in the car trunk, and the ex who is spending 5 years in the state pen after being falsely accused of sexual assault. She’s not married because she just hasn’t found Mr. Right yet, that’s all. But by process of elimination, she’ll find him. He probably wears an apron in the kitchen.]
13. You're being irrational.
To a woman, words like "irrational" and "emotional" are loaded with double meanings. You're better off choosing an adjective not loaded with sexist tripwires.
[Yes, women become very emotional when they are accused of being irrational. Why do they become so emotional about it? Don’t ask me. If they truly aren’t irrational and they know the charge is false, then their emotional reaction to the word is rather irrational. Hmmm… GUILTY! Thank you. That is all.]
12. Your best friend is really hot.
We know she's hot, but telling us you think so is the quickest way to never see her again.
[Never tip your hand, gentlemen. Remain quiet and patient and then strike when the iron - and the best friend - is hot.]
11. Can I kiss you?
Don't suck all the spontaneity out of the moment by asking, just go for it! If we're not into it, we'll let you know.
[…by calling the cops and accusing you of sexual assault.]
10. You aren't one of those feminists, are you?
You aren't one of those guys who enjoys sleeping on the couch, are you?
[Yes, this is an extremely stupid question that need never be asked. Look, get a clue, Knucklehead: it’s 2009 and they’re ALL feminists.]
9. You're cute when you're mad.
You are not cute when you are being patronizing!
[Women do indeed hate this because you’re not showing them enough respect. She is woman! You’re supposed to hear her roar and be afraid - be VERY afraid! Look, man, don’t make her have to come over there, throw you on the ground and let the air out of your tires!]
8. That's not the way my ex did it.
You're better off just avoiding the topic of ex-girlfriends in general, unless accompanied by phrases like "vastly inferior to my current girlfriend."
[Yeah, women don’t like comparisons unless they come out way on top. It has something to do with a woman’s inherent love of the truth, I think.]
7. So how old are you?
Old enough to know not to ask rude questions.
[You’re being a knucklehead again. She spends a lot of money on makeup, diet books, fake boobs and plastic surgeons in order to keep you from knowing her true age. Why ya wanna wreck all her work for?]
6. You sound just like your mother.
Are you insulting us, or our mothers? Both? Oh, it's on.
[Obviously you were insulting both of them, but women don’t always get the obvious. Like how makeup, diet books, fake boobs and plastic surgeons can’t really hide the obvious.]
5. Smile.
There is nothing more infuriating than being told to "Smile" when you don't feel like it.. Aren't we allowed to have a bad day?
[True. That smile she paints on her face several times a day with that red, phallic grease stick should be good enough for you.]
4. You sure you wanna eat that?
If she wasn't sure, she wouldn't have ordered it. And are you sure you want to question her diet, Mr. Nacho, Wings and Beer Belly?
[But the next time she asks, “Do I look fat in this?” be sure you tell her: “Remember that cheesecake I asked you about last week? Well, you didn’t OUTRUN it.”]
3. The "B" word, ever.
Calling a woman a "bitch" (or worse) in any context is just not OK. We will flip out.
[Right, they will. But of course if she really isn’t a bitch, and she knows that for a fact, then her emotional response to that word is really quite irrational, wouldn’t you say?]
2. When are you due?
Unless her belly is indisputably housing a baby, never assume a woman is pregnant. We will, however, accept offers of seats even if we're just bloated.
[Now, I totally agree with this one. No, SERIOUSLY! Because I’ve made that mistake twice in my life. But there will be no strike three! Many years ago, a guy proudly showed me a photo of his girlfriend, and because only her belly was overweight, I mistakenly assumed she was pregnant and mentioned it. Doh! Another time, this woman gained so much weight in her midsection and so quickly that I believed she had a bun in the oven. In conversation I said something about the Phoenix heat being especially harsh “in your condition.” UHP! I’M AN IDIOT! But I’ll never make this mistake again. I don’t care if a baby falls to the ground from underneath a woman’s dress and flops there between her feet, I ain’t assumin’ nothin’ ‘bout weight!]
1. Is it that time of the month?
Blaming a woman's anger on her period is the quickest way to ensure her rage will now be focused on you. It doesn't matter if she blows up at you like clockwork every 28 days -- just don't say it.
[Correct. A woman’s anger is NEVER related to her cycle. More times than not, the source can be found in her irrational emotionalism... Or Blog Bits like this one.]
Well, guys, there’s the list of things you are not supposed to say to women. You can attempt to memorize that list and keep it in mind whenever conversing with them, or you can make it easy on yourself by following my example: Just don’t talk to women. But then, of course, they will be constantly complaining that you do not “communicate” well and you’re too closed off. Let’s face it, men, it’s just a no-win situation. As my old friend Torch once famously said:
“WOMEN! Can’t live WITH them – can’t live with them.”
And that’s why God created the dog – man’s best friend.
And why God put a beautiful blonde head on a gorgeous, golden, full-bodied beer.
~ Stephen T. McCarthy
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Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
THE AMERICAN DREAM: TO RUN AWAY FROM HOME & JOIN THE ROCK 'N' ROLL CARNIVAL
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I dropped out of high school
It bored me to death
They taught me a dress code
And lost my respect
~ Nils Lofgren
‘The Sun Hasn’t Set On This Boy Yet’
It’s the coolest Rock music album cover ever produced. That’s just my opinion, of course, but here at ‘Stephen T. McCarthy’s STUFFS’, Stephen T. McCarthy is the king. I’m Stephen T. McCarthy, and it’s good to be the king!
I was yakkin’ with The Great L.C. (he of the 8,000 CDs) at work the other day when he asked me if the photograph I use on my Blogs was a deliberate attempt to mimic the album cover of NILS LOFGREN’s 1975 eponymous solo release. The honest answer is “No.” It was not a “deliberate” attempt because I still recall vividly the day that photograph was taken and I know that Nils Lofgren was not hanging around in my mind.
It was 1983, I was 23 years old, and I had traveled to New York City for the first time to visit my California friend, Eric, who was studying art there. It was a misty morning and we took the ferry out to the Statue of Liberty. I still have a neat photo of Miss Liberty’s silhouette just beginning to emerge from the fog as we got near the little island where she stands torch in hand.
I had taken the bottle of Jack Daniels with me specifically because I had planned to arrange the elements for a photograph that I could see in my mind. And I’m happy to report that the end result was just what I had envisioned. So, there was nothing spontaneous about the picture; I carefully set it up, having Eric stand in for me until I got just the layout I wanted, then we switched places and Eric snapped the shutter. After polishing off my pre-breakfast Jack Daniels (I always did hate to eat anything on an unprepared stomach), I left the empty bottle inside Miss Liberty’s belly. Now she and I both had that J.D. Belly Burn.
If I had been consciously aping the “NILS LOFGREN” album cover, I would remember that today. But as I told The Great L.C., it is almost certain that I was subconsciously recreating the cover. I no longer remember when or how I first heard of Nils Lofgren but I became a fan of his band GRIN. Writing a letter to a girl I liked at the time, on a whim, I included a line from the Nils/Grin song ‘Beggar’s Day’: “I've lost control of my darker side.” I don’t know why I tossed that into the letter (perhaps the song was playing while I was writing), but next I heard from her, she was very concerned about me. Ha!
By 1978 or ’79, I was listening to the first Nils Lofgren solo effort a lot. And starting to drink a lot, too. That was the beginning of my 'League Of Soul Crusaders' boozin’ years. That was also an era of pretentious Prog Rock, talentless Punk Rock and vapid Disco dance monotony. “NILS LOFGREN," released in 1975, contained short, catchy, straightforward Rock tunes, with just the basics: drums, bass, Nils’ sizzling but tasteful guitar, and a little piano added for texture and flavoring. Solid stuffs with memorable melodies that still sound good to my ears.
Maybe even better than the music itself was that album cover. It showed a large carnival painting on canvas advertising a display of the world’s largest (as in “fattest”) man. “Mountain of Flesh” the sign reads, and “World’s Largest Human” – seven hundred and forty something pounds. The carnival advertisement is awash in bright colors and I’m guessing the theme was developed from a lyric in the 10th song ‘ROCK AND ROLL CROOK’: “I’m playing hard for songs I take / I ain’t no sideshow fake.”
But what really stamps the album cover as a true classic is the appearance of Nils Lofgren standing front and center before the sign with his punky Rock ‘N’ Roll attitude showing. Nils is wearing some outrageous rock star accessories like scarves, a concha belt and a brightly colored solar system tie-dyed T-shirt that mirrors the loud painting behind him. But over the hippie T-shirt is a mean and flapping black leather jacket. Nils winks at the camera while he’s swilling booze straight outta the bottle. The cool punk.
While listening to the cat rock out, I used to stare at that album cover, thinking how utterly boss Nils looked and tellin’ myself: Dude, you GOTTA get yerself a black leather jacket!
Well, before long, I did, and I essentially lived in that jacket for many years. It went wherever I did: it prowled the Los Angeles streets with me; it went into bars and restaurants with me; it tried to pick up chicks with me; it got drunk and suffered hellacious hangovers with me; it went to New York with me (yes, that’s it in the Statue of Liberty photo!); it traveled all over America with me, and it went to jail in Mexico – but I finally located it and bailed it out after it had endured a long, sleepless night. I put it in a closet long ago, because I was no longer the black leather jacket type. But it was only a couple of years ago that I was finally able to part with it. I donated it to a Goodwill store here in Phoenix so someone younger could play Nils Lofgren for awhile.
My mind is a bit quirky, and one notable quirk is how it discerns and gravitates toward patterns. My brain seems to always be processing life and automatically seeking out the apparent and the hidden patterns in things. Have you never noticed how often I alliterate? I only occasionally do it by design. If I’m writing a word that starts with “W”, my brain will unconsciously seek out adjectives and verbs starting with “W” to surround it with. Next thing I know, I’ve got Double-Youz up the Yin-Yang and the writing comes off sounding “affectatious” (iz dat a word?) Anyway, I end up looking like some bozo tryin’ to get cute. Plenty of times I’ve rewritten sentences solely to “unalliterate” them.
Knowing how my mind works [sic], it’s really a given that my Statue of Liberty photograph was unconsciously inspired by the “NILS LOFGREN” album cover. (My mind was simply recreating that "pattern.") And since that is one of my favorite photos ever taken of me, I have Nils to thank for it. I’d own that self-titled Nils Lofgren solo debut recording even if I didn’t like the music therein – that’s how much I dig the cover.
I told you all that just to say this: I’m now overcome with curiosity about what booze Nils is guzzling in that photo. It looks to me like a bottle of brandy; maybe even Courvoisier – a brand of cognac. Don’t ask me why, but like the hoodlum in ‘Dirty Harry’, “I GOTS to know!”
So, I went to the Nils Lofgren website but I didn’t see a way to e-mail him. Upon further exploration, I discovered that he has a MySpace page which allows other MySpace folks to leave messages. So, after all these years, I’ve finally decided I’m going to create a MySpace account, and I’ll be doing so for one reason and one reason only: to try to contact Nils Lofgren and hopefully get the name O’da drink he’z drinkin’ on his album cover.
After that, I’m going to track down my old black leather jacket and return to New York City and retake that picture 26 years later. This time, with the RIGHT bottle of booze.
I’ll have to get a new photographer for the sequel, however, because Eric’s unavailable. Perhaps Yoey O’Dogherty, my old buddy and professional photographer from Playboy magazine, can shoot it. You see, Eric’s still in a Mexican jail. Nobody bailed out his sorry butt. Serves him right for stealin’ my black leather jacket. How'z his art now? - the cold yet uncool (black leather jacketless) punk!
~ Stephen T. McCarthy
.
I dropped out of high school
It bored me to death
They taught me a dress code
And lost my respect
~ Nils Lofgren
‘The Sun Hasn’t Set On This Boy Yet’
It’s the coolest Rock music album cover ever produced. That’s just my opinion, of course, but here at ‘Stephen T. McCarthy’s STUFFS’, Stephen T. McCarthy is the king. I’m Stephen T. McCarthy, and it’s good to be the king!
I was yakkin’ with The Great L.C. (he of the 8,000 CDs) at work the other day when he asked me if the photograph I use on my Blogs was a deliberate attempt to mimic the album cover of NILS LOFGREN’s 1975 eponymous solo release. The honest answer is “No.” It was not a “deliberate” attempt because I still recall vividly the day that photograph was taken and I know that Nils Lofgren was not hanging around in my mind.
It was 1983, I was 23 years old, and I had traveled to New York City for the first time to visit my California friend, Eric, who was studying art there. It was a misty morning and we took the ferry out to the Statue of Liberty. I still have a neat photo of Miss Liberty’s silhouette just beginning to emerge from the fog as we got near the little island where she stands torch in hand.
I had taken the bottle of Jack Daniels with me specifically because I had planned to arrange the elements for a photograph that I could see in my mind. And I’m happy to report that the end result was just what I had envisioned. So, there was nothing spontaneous about the picture; I carefully set it up, having Eric stand in for me until I got just the layout I wanted, then we switched places and Eric snapped the shutter. After polishing off my pre-breakfast Jack Daniels (I always did hate to eat anything on an unprepared stomach), I left the empty bottle inside Miss Liberty’s belly. Now she and I both had that J.D. Belly Burn.
If I had been consciously aping the “NILS LOFGREN” album cover, I would remember that today. But as I told The Great L.C., it is almost certain that I was subconsciously recreating the cover. I no longer remember when or how I first heard of Nils Lofgren but I became a fan of his band GRIN. Writing a letter to a girl I liked at the time, on a whim, I included a line from the Nils/Grin song ‘Beggar’s Day’: “I've lost control of my darker side.” I don’t know why I tossed that into the letter (perhaps the song was playing while I was writing), but next I heard from her, she was very concerned about me. Ha!
By 1978 or ’79, I was listening to the first Nils Lofgren solo effort a lot. And starting to drink a lot, too. That was the beginning of my 'League Of Soul Crusaders' boozin’ years. That was also an era of pretentious Prog Rock, talentless Punk Rock and vapid Disco dance monotony. “NILS LOFGREN," released in 1975, contained short, catchy, straightforward Rock tunes, with just the basics: drums, bass, Nils’ sizzling but tasteful guitar, and a little piano added for texture and flavoring. Solid stuffs with memorable melodies that still sound good to my ears.
Maybe even better than the music itself was that album cover. It showed a large carnival painting on canvas advertising a display of the world’s largest (as in “fattest”) man. “Mountain of Flesh” the sign reads, and “World’s Largest Human” – seven hundred and forty something pounds. The carnival advertisement is awash in bright colors and I’m guessing the theme was developed from a lyric in the 10th song ‘ROCK AND ROLL CROOK’: “I’m playing hard for songs I take / I ain’t no sideshow fake.”
But what really stamps the album cover as a true classic is the appearance of Nils Lofgren standing front and center before the sign with his punky Rock ‘N’ Roll attitude showing. Nils is wearing some outrageous rock star accessories like scarves, a concha belt and a brightly colored solar system tie-dyed T-shirt that mirrors the loud painting behind him. But over the hippie T-shirt is a mean and flapping black leather jacket. Nils winks at the camera while he’s swilling booze straight outta the bottle. The cool punk.
While listening to the cat rock out, I used to stare at that album cover, thinking how utterly boss Nils looked and tellin’ myself: Dude, you GOTTA get yerself a black leather jacket!
Well, before long, I did, and I essentially lived in that jacket for many years. It went wherever I did: it prowled the Los Angeles streets with me; it went into bars and restaurants with me; it tried to pick up chicks with me; it got drunk and suffered hellacious hangovers with me; it went to New York with me (yes, that’s it in the Statue of Liberty photo!); it traveled all over America with me, and it went to jail in Mexico – but I finally located it and bailed it out after it had endured a long, sleepless night. I put it in a closet long ago, because I was no longer the black leather jacket type. But it was only a couple of years ago that I was finally able to part with it. I donated it to a Goodwill store here in Phoenix so someone younger could play Nils Lofgren for awhile.
My mind is a bit quirky, and one notable quirk is how it discerns and gravitates toward patterns. My brain seems to always be processing life and automatically seeking out the apparent and the hidden patterns in things. Have you never noticed how often I alliterate? I only occasionally do it by design. If I’m writing a word that starts with “W”, my brain will unconsciously seek out adjectives and verbs starting with “W” to surround it with. Next thing I know, I’ve got Double-Youz up the Yin-Yang and the writing comes off sounding “affectatious” (iz dat a word?) Anyway, I end up looking like some bozo tryin’ to get cute. Plenty of times I’ve rewritten sentences solely to “unalliterate” them.
Knowing how my mind works [sic], it’s really a given that my Statue of Liberty photograph was unconsciously inspired by the “NILS LOFGREN” album cover. (My mind was simply recreating that "pattern.") And since that is one of my favorite photos ever taken of me, I have Nils to thank for it. I’d own that self-titled Nils Lofgren solo debut recording even if I didn’t like the music therein – that’s how much I dig the cover.
I told you all that just to say this: I’m now overcome with curiosity about what booze Nils is guzzling in that photo. It looks to me like a bottle of brandy; maybe even Courvoisier – a brand of cognac. Don’t ask me why, but like the hoodlum in ‘Dirty Harry’, “I GOTS to know!”
So, I went to the Nils Lofgren website but I didn’t see a way to e-mail him. Upon further exploration, I discovered that he has a MySpace page which allows other MySpace folks to leave messages. So, after all these years, I’ve finally decided I’m going to create a MySpace account, and I’ll be doing so for one reason and one reason only: to try to contact Nils Lofgren and hopefully get the name O’da drink he’z drinkin’ on his album cover.
After that, I’m going to track down my old black leather jacket and return to New York City and retake that picture 26 years later. This time, with the RIGHT bottle of booze.
I’ll have to get a new photographer for the sequel, however, because Eric’s unavailable. Perhaps Yoey O’Dogherty, my old buddy and professional photographer from Playboy magazine, can shoot it. You see, Eric’s still in a Mexican jail. Nobody bailed out his sorry butt. Serves him right for stealin’ my black leather jacket. How'z his art now? - the cold yet uncool (black leather jacketless) punk!
~ Stephen T. McCarthy
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THE AMERICAN DREAM: TO RUN AWAY FROM HOME & JOIN THE ROCK 'N' ROLL CARNIVAL [Photo Gallery]
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Punx On Parade:
NILS LOFGREN and STEPHEN T. McCARTHY
Photographs by the Yoey O'Dogherty wannabes:
ED CARAEFF and JAILHOUSE ERIC
~ Stephen T. McCarthy (da king hereabouts)
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Punx On Parade:
NILS LOFGREN and STEPHEN T. McCARTHY
Photographs by the Yoey O'Dogherty wannabes:
ED CARAEFF and JAILHOUSE ERIC
~ Stephen T. McCarthy (da king hereabouts)
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Sunday, March 1, 2009
PAUL HARVEY HITS THE ROAD
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Paul Harvey has died at age 90. I always enjoyed his little stories with the surprising endings. When I told my brother Nappy that Harvey’s hit The Road Eternal, he said, “Lucky guy.” I had to chuckle at that because the first thought I’d had was the same thought I nearly always have when I learn of someone’s death: “Well, everyone GETS to die some day.”
I still have an old newspaper clipping of an article Paul Harvey wrote a long time back (circa late ‘80s?) It’s titled “THE HAT THAT’S A WHOLE LOT MORE THAN THAT”:
A “cowboy hat” is more than that. I’ve just spent a week wearing, working in, playing in and sometimes resting on one.
It does not look like the fancy white ones those “Dallas” dudes wear on TV. Nor the mod modifications styled for wear on disco dance floors and mechanical bulls. Even the macho Marlboro Man wears a clean Stetson only for the magazine ads. Beacause a real “cowboy hat” is a whole lot more than that.
It’s a sunshade for skinheads and an eyeshade for siestas. It’s a pillow on the trail and protection for tall men ridin’ under low limbs – keeps ‘em from knockin’ the bark off.
The broad-brimmed 10-gallon hat holds one gallon – enough water to revive a calf down with the heat, enough oats for one horse for one meal. In up-and-down country a trail rider can rest his leaning glass of gusto on that wide brim. Or it’s a fan to stir up the campfire or the forge-fire or to cool down a fevered brow.
The Stetson is used to hold the chits when the boys draw numbers for a quarterhorse race, to swat off flies and trail dust, to hold fenceline staples when the bag breaks.
Maybe this will help you understand why a clean cowboy hat is like a squeakin’ saddle; it ain’t done nothin’ yet.
Generations of cowpokes breakin’ broncs have been spared busted skulls by a semi-hard-hat molded firm from the belly fur of beavers.
Mine’s a greasy headrest and bump guard for working over, under and around farm machinery. It holds enough garden pickin’s for a raw lunch. It’s warm on cold mornings and cool on hot afternoons.
The cowboy hat is so much more than that. It stays on for meals, bivouac, bulldoggin’ and dozin’ . . . But it still comes off for wavin’, for prayers and for funerals. And for the ladies.
Next time you see a cowboy hat – I mean a real one – the guy under it’s probably a pretty good guy. Or somebody would have knocked it off him.
On our border where the Stetson and sombrero meet, there is no more significant symbol of status – a man’s pickup can be fallin’ apart but he’s still somebody if he’s wearin a 20-X Western Stetson.
Our nation has few symbols as significant, none more durable. The Constitution’s been subtracted from – The Stars and Stripes have been added to – But the Western Stetson you can count on!
R.I.P., Paul Harvey. Wherever you are, I hope you’re havin’ a “Good Day!” But this much is certain: “Now you know the rest of the story.”
~ Stephen T. McCarthy
.
Paul Harvey has died at age 90. I always enjoyed his little stories with the surprising endings. When I told my brother Nappy that Harvey’s hit The Road Eternal, he said, “Lucky guy.” I had to chuckle at that because the first thought I’d had was the same thought I nearly always have when I learn of someone’s death: “Well, everyone GETS to die some day.”
I still have an old newspaper clipping of an article Paul Harvey wrote a long time back (circa late ‘80s?) It’s titled “THE HAT THAT’S A WHOLE LOT MORE THAN THAT”:
A “cowboy hat” is more than that. I’ve just spent a week wearing, working in, playing in and sometimes resting on one.
It does not look like the fancy white ones those “Dallas” dudes wear on TV. Nor the mod modifications styled for wear on disco dance floors and mechanical bulls. Even the macho Marlboro Man wears a clean Stetson only for the magazine ads. Beacause a real “cowboy hat” is a whole lot more than that.
It’s a sunshade for skinheads and an eyeshade for siestas. It’s a pillow on the trail and protection for tall men ridin’ under low limbs – keeps ‘em from knockin’ the bark off.
The broad-brimmed 10-gallon hat holds one gallon – enough water to revive a calf down with the heat, enough oats for one horse for one meal. In up-and-down country a trail rider can rest his leaning glass of gusto on that wide brim. Or it’s a fan to stir up the campfire or the forge-fire or to cool down a fevered brow.
The Stetson is used to hold the chits when the boys draw numbers for a quarterhorse race, to swat off flies and trail dust, to hold fenceline staples when the bag breaks.
Maybe this will help you understand why a clean cowboy hat is like a squeakin’ saddle; it ain’t done nothin’ yet.
Generations of cowpokes breakin’ broncs have been spared busted skulls by a semi-hard-hat molded firm from the belly fur of beavers.
Mine’s a greasy headrest and bump guard for working over, under and around farm machinery. It holds enough garden pickin’s for a raw lunch. It’s warm on cold mornings and cool on hot afternoons.
The cowboy hat is so much more than that. It stays on for meals, bivouac, bulldoggin’ and dozin’ . . . But it still comes off for wavin’, for prayers and for funerals. And for the ladies.
Next time you see a cowboy hat – I mean a real one – the guy under it’s probably a pretty good guy. Or somebody would have knocked it off him.
On our border where the Stetson and sombrero meet, there is no more significant symbol of status – a man’s pickup can be fallin’ apart but he’s still somebody if he’s wearin a 20-X Western Stetson.
Our nation has few symbols as significant, none more durable. The Constitution’s been subtracted from – The Stars and Stripes have been added to – But the Western Stetson you can count on!
R.I.P., Paul Harvey. Wherever you are, I hope you’re havin’ a “Good Day!” But this much is certain: “Now you know the rest of the story.”
~ Stephen T. McCarthy
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