‘WHY MEN AND WOMEN CAN’T UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER’ (Or, ‘WOSSAMOTTA U?’)

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Before these modern advances in science took place we were told that females were made of “sugar and spice and everything nice” and that males were made of “snips and snails and puppy dog tails”.

Well, whatever the ingredients might be, it was pretty obvious to most of us that men and women were simply different. You know, from Venus or Mars and all that stuffs.

I was pretty sure that most men’s brains were made of barbeque sauce and Beer Nuts while women’s brains were made of chocolate. (Except for feminists and/or liberal women, whose brains, I was sure, were more likely chocolate pudding.)

And then about two and a half months ago, I received an Email from my friend The Flying Aardvark and she – yes, she’s a “she” – included a link to a YouTube video of this marriage counselor comedian named Mark Gungor. Well, Gungor definitely straightened me out about men’s and women’s brains. Forget the chocolate and the barbeque sauce ‘n’ Beer Nuts, as it turns out that women’s brains are actually balls of wire charged with emotion and men’s brains are made up of lots of little boxes that never touch each other.

The video clip that Flyin’ Aard sent me was so spot-on that I decided to search for more.

“Generally” speaking, Mark Gungor has it mostly “EXACTLY” right! If you don’t recognize in these skits the attitudes and the behaviors of most of the men and women you’ve known, then I dare say you don’t get out much and you’re mostly sleeping while at home.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6jAP0dZ36IM



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fF9B0lukM4



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqgsD-IhFtw



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwBKIQ__q7Q&NR=1

~ Stephen T. McCarthy

YE OLDE COMMENT POLICY: All comments, pro and con, are welcome. However, ad hominem attacks and disrespectful epithets will not be tolerated (read: "posted"). After all, this isn’t Amazon.com, so I don’t have to put up with that kind of bovine excrement.
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WAS KASPAROV A PAWN IN IBM’s GAME?

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[From the STMcC archive; written on September 7, 2006.]

Did GARRY KASPAROV, the world’s greatest chess player, get rooked when he lost a six-game match to IBM’s supercomputer, DEEP BLUE, in 1997? That’s the question that this padded, but nonetheless interesting documentary asks you to consider.

I wasn’t even aware of GAME OVER: KASPAROV AND THE MACHINE until I stumbled over it while Amazon surfing last week. When I was unable to locate a VHS rental copy, I actually bought my first DVD player (NOT made in China, India, or Indonesia) just so I could view this.

If you have little or no interest in chess (the world’s greatest game!) then there is no chance you’ll find watching the 85 minutes of GAME OVER well spent. On the other hand, if chess fascinates, or even interests you, you’ll find the movie flawed but somewhat intriguing.

I got into chess as a result of the high profile 1972, Fischer versus Spassky match. Later in 1972, I joined the chess club at my junior high school and won the club championship in a three-game match. (But interestingly, the player who most intimidated me was blind. He was a “Chess Game Wizard.”) Back then, I wanted to be ranked a Master by the age of 16, but other interests began vying for my time and attention: art, girls, and sports, and the art of watching girls in shorts play sports! I never became more than mediocre at best in chess, but I never lost all interest in it either. Nor in watching girls play beach volleyball. ;o)

Of this movie’s hour and a half running time, likely 50% of it is unnecessary filler. We get shots of Kasparov revisiting the locales less than 10 years later; the same footage over and over of an old chess-playing contraption; shots of New York City ad nauseam, etc. As Christopher Lloyd playing the part of Max Taber said in the movie, 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest': "Play the game and knock off the bullshit." A little atmosphere is fine, but too much of it slows down an already slow contest.

The crux of Kasparov’s argument follows: After beating DEEP BLUE handily in Game One, in which the computer played a very mathematical, machine-like style, it made a “creative judgment” in Game Two which the man, Kasparov, was certain could only be made by a “man.” Subsequently, he became so unnerved – convinced that a human mind was responsible for that move (i.e., he was playing against not just a machine, but also one or more unseen Grand Masters) – that he prematurely conceded Game Two, which possibly cost him a draw and ultimately the match.

If chess was purely mathematical, I - the most mathematically-challenged person on the planet - would have never won a game. There are rich, creative and psychological elements to chess – it is NOT strictly mechanical, not just “black and white”, despite the colors of the pieces. It is closer to music than it is to algebra. I have no math skills whatsoever, but I’m extremely analytical and I discern patterns in things. And I can be quite a fearsome psych warrior! As a novice playing against novices, I frequently swapped queens when the only advantage to me was psychological: beginners – and even some half decent players – mentally surrender once they’ve lost their queen. But I KNEW I could win without her, and it only made me bear down and concentrate more. I’ve always been at my best under pressure. But does a computer “got game” when it comes to those additional chess factors?

When in Game Two, KASPAROV offered up a pawn (or two?) in order to gain a positional advantage in another sector of the board, and DEEP BLUE declined to take the piece, Kasparov became suspicious and lost his composure. It was as if a dog passed up ground beef because it “speculated” that there might be filet mignon three blocks away. Is a dog (or computer) capable of that kind of “thought”? Or will it immediately take the first gift offered? How can it sniff out a stratagem from a mistake? Well, Deep Blue saying, “Thanks, but no thanks” made Kasparov deeply blue. The rest is history.

I really wish that the filmmaker had dispensed with 15 minutes of superfluous “atmosphere” shots and spent it really analyzing that key move in Game Two. (One of the DVD’s Special Features replays all of the games with very basic commentary on each move, but no mention is made of the questionable moment in Game Two or of the importance it held.) What was Kasparov really attempting to accomplish by sacrificing a pawn or two? How obvious was the advantage in position that he would have gained? How much “creative thinking” did Deep Blue have to perform in order to “see through the ground beef”? How did the computer go from mechanical playing to “humanistic” playing overnight? Was IBM playing chess games with Kasparov, or playing mind games with him? You’ll never know until you check, mate!

~ Stephen T. McCarthy

YE OLDE COMMENT POLICY: All comments, pro and con, are welcome. However, ad hominem attacks and disrespectful epithets will not be tolerated (read: "posted"). After all, this isn’t Amazon.com, so I don’t have to put up with that kind of bovine excrement.

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“THOSE ARE HIPPIES, STEPHEN.”

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[From the STMcC archive; written September 29, 2006.]

This resurrected review is now being dedicated to my friend "THE SHREDDER".

I still remember the moment clearly: It was one day, probably in “The Summer Of Love” (1967), I was eight years old and my Mother was behind the wheel as we turned a corner in Garden Grove, California. Referring to a group of colorful, flowing Flower Children on the corner, waiting for the light to change (second-rate rebels!), I asked, “What are those people, Mom?” Her reply was the first time I’d ever encountered the term hippie. A couple of years later, I would be dressing just like them – Keith Partridge and Greg Brady had nothing on me! (I still have the original patches from my denim jacket: the Yellow Smiley Face; the star-spangled hand forming the Peace Sign; Have A Nice Day; Come Together, etc.)

The one thing that nearly every big city American who came-of-age in the 1960s and ‘70s has in common is the LP soundtrack from the Broadway musical, HAIR. That “Licorice Pizza” (LP) with its green and red cover was in everyone’s collection. Mine spent a lot of time on the turntable.

In 1979, Milos Forman – unquestionably one of cinema’s most talented directors – only four years removed from his monumental, 5 Academy Awards-winning achievement, 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest', decided to put the old 1960s icon, HAIR, onto the silver screen. It went mostly unnoticed. The old hippies were now too respectable and forward-thinking in their three-piece suits and plush offices to look back at their past, and the kids had shaved heads and the loud, lean sound of Punk Rock on their minds. Hair? Nobody wore it. Nobody saw it. Too bad.

In a sense, the entire movie is almost like an LSD hallucination. HAIR opens with peaceful shots of a green, pastoral Oklahoma landscape and a son and his dad attempting, in their painfully rigid way, to express their mutual affection before the young man, Claude Bukowski (John Savage), boards a bus for New York City to answer Uncle Sam’s draft notice for an adventure in Vietnam. The old man says, “Don’t worry too much. It’s just these smart people that’s got to worry. The Lord will take care of the ignorant ones.” Soon the screen explodes into Free Love and Psychedelia, but at the end of the picture, the old man’s joke is revealed to have been weirdly prophetic.

[An aside: This has no bearing on anything, but numerous times in the past, Yours Truly was told that he looked nearly identical to John Savage. I always shrugged it off until one day in 1981, Savage’s own best friend, actor Charles Haid, told me the same thing. Then I knew it to be true. Now you know: this reviewer looks like a Savage.]

[John Savage then, and . . . ]

[. . . Later.]

In New York’s Central Park, Claude meets up with a band of hippies led by George Berger (Treat Williams). There are a couple of nifty performances in HAIR: Savage with his hangdog, fish-out-of-water country reticence; Annie Golden as the screen’s most likeable little airhead since Judy Holliday in Born Yesterday; and Miles Chapin as Steve, the put upon “proper” product of old school traditionalism. But unarguably, HAIR belongs to Treat Williams.

Very rarely does an actor just light up the screen with “presence.” James Dean did it in 'East Of Eden' in 1955. Girls in the theatres began screaming the moment he appeared on screen, inexplicably drawn, no doubt, to the brooding intensity of his animal magnetism. In recent times, Val Kilmer playing Doc Holliday in 'Tombstone' stole every single scene he appeared in with the power of his charisma. (Many would put Brando’s portrayal of Stanley Kowalski in 'A Streetcar Named Desire' in this class, though I found it too mannered to believe.) There have been a few others, Treat Williams in HAIR amongst them.

When I first saw this movie in the theatre, I labeled Williams a can’t-miss soon-to-be superstar. Though his work in 'Prince Of The City' was highly acclaimed, somehow Williams whiffed. I thought Kenneth Branagh’s performance in 'Dead Again' was going to propel him to megastar status, too. (Remind me of these misjudgments the next time I tell you that I’m never wrong.) It’s the ultra-cool confidence and dynamic presence Williams exudes that carries this movie and keeps it moving. He is the follicle of HAIR. (I’m sorry! I really can’t help myself.)

Although Forman ultimately comes down on the side of the Hippie Movement, he takes jabs at, and also embraces, different aspects of the two social armies engaged in a cultural war that took place at home concurrent with an American “police action” on another continent. And Berger, despite his narcissism and hedonism (the real foundation of the counterculture) which often antagonizes the “authorities” and widens the Generation Gap, is also the peacemaker who can empathize with others and effect a reconciliation. He’s a complex, interesting character and worthy of deep analysis.

There are a few abysmal songs to be found in HAIR, but also some real winners. Most notably, 'Where Do I Go?' (with poor lip-synching from Savage), 'Good Morning Starshine' (For me, Oliver’s #3 hit version from 1969 captures this era like no other song), and especially 'Easy To Be Hard'. This last one anchors a brilliant segment in which Forman’s extraordinary directorial skills are on display. 'Easy To Be Hard' (an outrageously powerful performance by Cheryl Barnes and alone worth the price of the soundtrack) is an exceptional piece in which hippie Lafayette’s cold distance toward his girlfriend is expressed in snowy long shots of him walking away from her and into the city. This is contrasted with close-up shots of her singing, signifying the fullness of the heartrending emotional wound he has inflicted upon her. If this scene doesn’t give you a little chill, you’re a mighty chilly person, friend.

There are several other memorable scenes in HAIR: Though I don’t approve of nudity in movies and I hardly needed to see chunky Beverly D’Angelo sans the costumer’s art, if that bit where she hails a taxi in Central Park doesn’t make you laugh, check for a pulse! And I’m as “straight” as the term gets, but if the Black Boys / White Boys segment with the Army’s induction board doesn’t at least elicit a smile from you, you’re definitely wound a little too tight. Berger’s brief visit with the folks back home is a gem (with a delightful cameo by Antonia Rey playing his mom). And then there’s that surprise ending with its growing sense of claustrophobia and impending doom swallowing up the helpless George Berger – another example of Forman’s artistic vision brilliantly executed.

There is plenty to like about this movie, and it certainly beats the vast majority of what is being produced today. HAIR is a strange “trip”, but one that is worth taking.

~ Stephen T. McCarthy

YE OLDE COMMENT POLICY: All comments, pro and con, are welcome. However, ad hominem attacks and disrespectful epithets will not be tolerated (read: "posted"). After all, this isn’t Amazon.com, so I don’t have to put up with that kind of bovine excrement.

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POOR EVE - SHE WAS JUST MISUNDERSTOOD

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[From the STMcC archive; 2007, May 17]

Yoey O’Dogherty, the pastor at The Holy Vineyard Church in Napa Valley, California, recently had his Sunday school children tested to determine how well they were learning their Scriptures; the results were mixed and a bit disappointing. One child wrote that “Saint Paul cavorted to Christianity. He preached holy acrimony, which is another name for marriage.” Of course, since Saint Paul didn’t “cavort” to Christianity but rather “converted” to it, this child was given just a 50% correct grade on this particular question.

Another child who scored just 50% correct on a question answered, “Adam and Eve were created from an apple tree. Noah's wife was called Joan of Ark. Noah built an ark, which the animals came on to in pears.” You don’t need me to tell you that Adam and Eve were NOT created from an apple tree (everyone knows that it was Little Johnny Appleseed who was created from an apple tree).

One kid who did manage to score a 100% on a question said that, “The first commandment was when Eve told Adam to eat the apple.” Although The Bible doesn’t actually say that the “forbidden fruit” was an apple, we know this to be a fact because it can be found in all of the famous paintings from that era. (But what even few sincere Bible students today realize is that Eve’s second bite into the apple exposed a worm, and when she began shrieking and yelling at Adam to “Kill it! Kill it!” this became the real Second Commandment.)

Genesis 3:16 tells us that after Eve transgressed God’s rule and then enticed Adam to also eat the forbidden apple, God pronounced judgment on her and stated, “I will greatly multiply your sorrow and your conception; In pain you shall bring forth children; Your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you.” This goes to show that sometimes even God is only 50% correct.

Since that time, a lot of men have gotten down on women, and while some people say this is only “natural”, I say, “You shall not muzzle an ox while it treads out the grain.” (Hell, I don’t know what it means, but I quote it frequently because I found it in Gideon’s Bible in 1986 while trying to survive an excruciating hangover in a little roach-infested motel in Nevada. I credit that particular verse for saving my life, and this is a story as American as apple pie!)

I still regularly read from The Bible, but sometimes my theology doesn’t comport with that of the typical Christian church. For example, I believe that Eve has gotten a bum rap; I think that in eating the apple she was merely trying to clean her colon. The health benefits of a clean colon have since been established and there are a few ways to acquire one: some people ingest these herbal formulas found in health food stores. Other folks undergo colonics. (I’ll admit that when I was a teenager, my buddies and I sometimes pushed our way in through the out door at the theater in order to see a movie for free, but that’ll be the day I’m going to pay money to someone to push something in MY out door!) The best way to a healthy colon that I have found involves apples . . .

I was once pretty much of an expert on the Edgar Cayce psychic readings. After a thorough and objective investigation into them, however, I eventually determined that some of them relating to spirituality are downright dangerous. His “health” readings, on the other hand, I still believe were gifts from God.

Cayce was way ahead of his time (some readings are still beyond our ken) and the information in his health-related readings was unquestionably supernaturally obtained. How could he have known so long before anyone else discovered it that the Vitamin B-17 (Laetrile) content of “bitter almonds” would prevent the growth of cancer? [See the books ‘World Without Cancer: The Story of Vitamin B-17’ by G. Edward Griffin, and ‘Alive & Well: One Doctor's Experience With Nutrition in the Treatment of Cancer Patients’ by Dr. Philip Binzel Jr.]

In all the years that I have done the Edgar Cayce 3-Day Apple Cleanse, and promoted it amongst my friends and acquaintances, only two people other than myself have completed it – both of them women. (I always did suspect that women have more ‘intestinal fortitude’ than men do.)

THE THREE-DAY RAW APPLE CLEANSE
[According to Edgar Cayce’s reading #543-26]:

“[F]or three days…take NOTHING except apples – RAW APPLES! Of course, coffee may be taken if so desired, but no other foods but the raw apples. And after the last meal of apples of the third day, or upon retiring on that evening following the last meal of apples, drink half a cup of olive oil. This will tend to cleanse the system.”

In reading #294-182 he elaborated that the apples to use for this colon cleanse are “the Jonathan variety, or the jenneting; the Black Arkansas, the Oregon Red, the Sheepnose, the DELICIOUS, the Arkansas Russet; any of those that are of the jenneting variety.”

Because the Red Delicious apples are always readily available, it is the variety that I use when I administer the cleanse to myself. (Ideally once a year, since I’m a vegetarian. A flesh-eater might consider doing it every 6 months.)

How many apples should you eat? Cayce didn’t say, but what happens is that the fiber and pectin in the apples loosens up all of the matter that has collected in the crevices of your intestines over time, and then the olive oil flushes it all out. So the more apples you eat, the better. I always begin with the idea of eating 9 a day, but by day three, I’m so sick of apples that I can usually only manage to get 5 or 6 of them down me.

The hardest part, of course, is slugging down half a cup of olive oil. (For crying-out-loud, DON’T SIP IT!!! The coward dies a thousand deaths, the hero dies but once). I get it down in one or two gulps and then have some Listerine handy to immediately wash out my mouth (which sure beats the Ivory soap that my Ma liked to use for that purpose).

While one might think that the results would be immediate, and that racing to the bathroom will soon be necessary, I have never found it to be so with me. In fact, I take the olive oil after the last apple just before bed, and I sleep through the night, never needing to make “the mad dash” at any time.

Does this Apple cleanse REALLY clean out your colon? Well, without getting too graphically disgusting let me just say that . . . well, just check . . . well, YES! IT WORKS, and you will find all the evidence that you need in the bowl.

I personally feel that Eve’s reputation has been unjustly maligned. I think that in eating the “forbidden fruit” Eve was simply trying to improve her health by cleaning out her colon, and if God had understood that, she would have remained the apple of His eye, and Man wouldn’t still be walking around with a lump in his throat (i.e., an Adam’s Apple) at the thought of her painful punishment.

But even if Eve was merely thumbing her nose at God, I wouldn’t allow that to color my feelings toward all women;
I wouldn’t judge them all based on one bad apple.

~ Stephen T. McCarthy

YE OLDE COMMENT POLICY: All comments, pro and con, are welcome. However, ad hominem attacks and disrespectful epithets will not be tolerated (read: "posted"). After all, this isn’t Amazon.com, so I don’t have to put up with that kind of bovine excrement.
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“LISTEN, BABY, HAVE YOU EVER BEEN LOVED BY A MAN THEY CALL THE WOLF?”

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[From the STMcC archive; 2006, May 21]


Don't listen to the so-called Blues purists! 'THE LONDON HOWLIN' WOLF SESSIONS' will rock your socks off. And if you go barefooted, then you'd better hang onto your hat!

I remember when the eponymous 'Van Halen' album was released in 1978, some writer for a music magazine reviewed it and criticized the song 'You Really Got Me' for being spunkless. "Spunkless"? There's a lot of things one might say about that song, but "spunkless" damn sure ain't one of them. Similarly, this Howlin' Wolf album has been frequently denigrated by Blues fans who like to appear highbrow and above the "adulterated" late-period Blues that found White wannabes collaborating with the genuine Black articles. It doesn't seem to matter to these people that the songs here are so hot they're smokin'!

In the very early 1980s when I was first considering buying this album (in the vinyl form), I saw a review in which the writer said that the tepid playing from the famous English Rock instrumentalists backing Howlin' Wolf (Chester Arthur Burnett, 1910-1976) on this recording suggested that the young White boys were intimidated by the huge, old, Black Bluesman (Wolf was six feet three inches tall and weighed two hundred and seventy-five pounds). I nearly passed on this record because of that asinine comment. (Yeah, the playing is tepid just like Van Halen’s 'You Really Got Me' is "spunkless"!)

Fortunately, curiosity got the best of me, I purchased the "licorice pizza" (now in the CD format), and I've been happily rockin' out to this bad boy for about twenty-one years now. And although I am well-educated in The Blues (I was probably drinking heavily late at night to Robert Johnson's, 'King Of The Delta Blues Singers' before you were born) this is still one of my most frequently spun Blues sets - and when I do spin it, I crank it up LOUD because it scares the Jehovah's Witnesses and the Mormons off of my front porch!

Sure, Wolf was old and ill when these tracks were cut (1970), but can you find one young White or Black contemporary rebel singer who sounds even half as ferocious as the Wolf does here? Don't bother answering - that was a rhetorical question because "NO" is the obvious reply.

From the opening track, 'ROCKIN' DADDY', with its thick rhythm, Eric Clapton's fiery guitar licks, and the Wolf singing enticements to a woman (trying his best not to scare her off), it's clear that this quasi-Blues/Rock amalgamation is going to kick rump. And boy does it ever!

"YES, THEY CALL ME 'THE ROCKER'; I CAN REALLY ROCK YOU ALL NIGHT LONG. I CAN LET YOU DOWN EASY WHEN I THINK YOUR MONEY'S GONE."

'Rockin' Daddy' moves right into the slightly slower, but no less rhythmically chunky and no less ferocious, 'I AIN'T SUPERSTITIOUS.' The one-two punch of the piano and horns is enough to frighten the fainthearted, and that's without even mentioning the menace in Wolf's deep howl and the "sexual" tension throughout.

"WELL, THE DOGS ALL HOWLIN' ALL OVER THE NEIGHBORHOOD. THAT'S A TRUE SIGN THINGS AIN'T NO GOOD...PLAY IT ON! GO 'HEAD AND HOWL UNDER THE MOONLIGHT, 'CAUSE I GOT MY BABY BY MY SIDE; BOYS, SHE THE SWEETEST THING YOU EVER SEEN. YOUR DOGS IS HOWLIN', AND THE HOUNDS. --PLAY!!!-- LISTEN, BABY, HAVE YOU EVER BEEN LOVED BY A MAN THEY CALL THE WOLF?"

"I'M WORRIED ABOUT YOU, BABY. AND YOU'D BETTER BE WORRIED ABOUT ME!"

"I'M GONNA LEAVE YOU, WOMAN, BEFORE I COMMIT A CRIME."

The dialogue between Wolf and the White Rockers before they launch into 'THE RED ROOSTER' is classic: Trying to get Wolf to play the acoustic guitar on the track, Clapton feigns an inability to grasp his part unless he can visually follow the Wolf's fingering. After some cajoling, Wolf - indisputably the alpha in this pack - puts an end to the discussion when he emphatically says, "Alright, let's get on it!" And do they ever! And borrowing from the Wolf's command, I've been continually using that phrase, "Alright, let's get on it", for the last twenty-one years.

"SOME FOLKS BUILT LIKE THIS; SOME FOLKS BUILT LIKE THAT. BUT THE WAY I'M BUILT, DON'TCHA CALL ME FAT. BECAUSE I'M BUILT FOR COMFORT; I AIN'T BUILT FOR SPEED. BUT I GOT EVERYTHING, OH, A GOOD GIRL NEEDS."

"WE GONNA PITCH A WANG DANG DOODLE ALL NIGHT LONG. LET ME HOWL TO YA: WA-OOO! WA-OOO! WA-OOO! ALL NIGHT-- WA-OOO!"

If you're already a Blues enthusiast, there's no reason for you not to own the Wolf's early, rawest material found on the "Twofer", 'Howlin' Wolf / Moanin' In The Moonlight'. That collection includes his standards, 'Spoonful'; 'Smokestack Lightnin''; 'Evil'; and 'Goin' Down Slow'. But if you're coming straight from the Rock genre, then 'THE LONDON HOWLIN' WOLF SESSIONS' is a perfect place for you to be introduced to this mountain of a man and one of the true giants in Blues.

Either way, this album should be kept within reach of everyone who wants a surefire way to answer the door when the proselytizers show up on the porch. At the first knock on your door, crank up the Wolf and then watch how fast they skedaddle. One time, two women dropped their 'Watchtower' pamphlets on my porch and outran their undergarments - left 'em right there in an indecorous heap on my stoop. And I had one Mormon man bolt so fast that his toupee was still hanging in midair when I opened the door!

No doubt about it, ya simply MUST have this Wolf album in yer collection. "ALRIGHT, LET'S GET ON IT!"

BONUS MATERIAL:
About a year and a half ago, my dear friend the Flyin’ Aardvark presented me with a really cool gift: The 4-episode, 2-DVD box set titled ‘AMERICAN ROOTS MUSIC’. If you haven’t seen it, you oughta. In episode #3 called The Times They Are A-Changin’, there’s a great interview segment with singer Bonnie Raitt in which she says of Howlin’ Wolf:

“I’ve never gotten over seeing Howlin’ Wolf and I never will. I listen to his records and it makes me feel the same feeling of eighteen: Oh my God, this is what men are about? And I haven’t really gone there yet and I’m just, you know— to watch him and listen to his voice – there’s nobody that can live up to the promise of that much scary maleness.

“And he just laid it on; he’s sweaty, he’s out of control, he’s playin’ it like he’s -- he’s workin’ you like he’s -- I’m a pretty powerful person and I was in his power; and the dream of every strong woman is to be overcome by a strong guy, and that guy gets me. From the moment I watched him, I said I’m – take me!, take me!, take me! – and I’ll be in love with him for the rest of my life”.
-- Bonnie Raitt

~ Stephen T. McCarthy

LINK:
I loves me some Howlin’ Wolf! Wolf is not only my all-time favorite Bluesman, but he’s a person I admire for the many good personal qualities he possessed. (The story of his relationship with his devoutly religious Mother and that episode when he last saw her alive is truly heartbreaking. HEARTBREAKING! THAT is the Blues in real life!)

Muddy was genuinely GREAT; Wolf was the best.

If you haven’t read enough words yet about The Wolf, and you wish to read mo’ stuffs I’ve written ‘bout Wolf (not to mention a small excerpt from my unproduced screenplay), click the link below:

AW-WOOO! WEREWOLVES OF MISSISSIPPI

YE OLDE COMMENT POLICY: All comments, pro and con, are welcome. However, ad hominem attacks and disrespectful epithets will not be tolerated (read: "posted"). After all, this isn’t Amazon.com, so I don’t have to put up with that kind of bovine excrement.
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BIG MAN ON CAMPUS (Or... F-IN’ LELLY: A BIG OL’ BLUESMAN)

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Back in the days when I worked at the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA), I had a number of co-worker/friends. For a place of “work”, we all actually had a pretty good time together and even met occasionally at various restaurants on the weekends for breakfast.

These breakfast gatherings were called “Bitter Meetings” because we’d all rant about what was going wrong at work and, of course, spread rumors about and talk behind the back of whoever failed to show up at the Bitter Meeting.

Well, through a mutual friend, I was just recently put back in touch with one of my old pals from those UCLA days: F#ckin’ Lelly.

Lelly’s real name is Larry but we all called him “Lelly” because our Asian boss, Suey, always called him “Lelly” as he couldn’t pronounce the R’s in Larry.

The “F#ckin’” part of “F#ckin’ Lelly” came from the fact that Lelly was so freakin’ big it seemed that he was always in our way. Whenever you tried to move, there was Lelly standing in your way, but because he occupied so much space, he really couldn’t help it. Our friendship with Larry was like having a friendship with a nice and gentle but big-footed dinosaur. But that’s how Larry became “F#ckin’ Lelly”, which was gradually shortened for decency’s sake to “F-in’ Lelly”.

A friend of mine recently Emailed me to say that he and some of the other guys had gotten together for a Bitter Meeting in Los Angeles. Below is a portion of what he wrote to me. This was part of a private correspondence, and since I have not sought permission to post it publicly, I don’t feel at liberty to state who wrote it. All I will say is that the four dudes who attended the Bitter Meeting were Lelly, Rick, Mike, and Lonnie. You might be able to figure out who wrote this if you’re willing to sit down with a calculator and spend the necessary time doing the math:

“FnLelly made an appearance at this Bitter along with Rick and Mike. Larry promptly bumped into 4 tables, knocking them and 12 patrons over as he sat down. (Kiddin', S.O.B.) But when he stood up he knocked over two pregnant women and stepped on a puppy.”

I’m STILL laughing! God bless F-in’ Lelly! He’s just like I remembered him!

[See, we dudes can call each other “S.O.B.” and “F-in’ Lelly” and stuffs like that because, in fact, we’re all old friends. Emphasis on the “old”.]

My old buddy F-in’ Lelly is a Blues guitarist. I went to see him play nightclubs back in the day, when he was the frontman for ‘The F#ckin’ Lelly Blues Band’.

OK, I confess, that band name is just a joke, but F-in’ Lelly’s gonna kill me if he ever reads this. He’s been axing me to send him a link to my blogs but I’ve withheld them so far and tried to discourage the idea. (I don’t want my best friends reading this crap I write, but I guess S.O.B. Lonnie - that fool! - must have mentioned my blogs to Lelly. Don’tcha hate it when that happens?!)

But seriously, Lelly’s been a professional Blues guitarist since I met him, and it was actually Lelly who turned me on to the legendary guitarist Danny Gatton approximately 147 years ago (that’s in “dog years”).

Well, I’ve learned that F-in’ Lelly’s still playing in local L.A. Blues bands. Two bands, actually. He’s a member of the band ‘Slavin’ David And Loose Gravel’ (I’m old enough to remember when Slavin’ David was playing acoustic guitar on the Venice Beach Boardwalk for spare change) and Lelly’s also a member of the band ‘Doc Rogers And The Roc Dodgers’. On the bio page for the latter group, it says that when Larry’s not playing guitar he “works as the bouncer at the local Christian Science reading room.”

Ha! Well, that’s a rough gig but Lelly’s probably big enough to handle it.

Below are some links to F-in’ Lelly’s band stuffs. I hope y’all check it out and dig it because F-in’ Lelly’s pretty f-in’ good.

SLAVIN’ DAVID AND LOOSE GRAVEL

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Black Jack 21
[Note: F-in’ Lelly’s the big dude with the guitar, wearing the glasses and the black cowboy “smile pocket” shirt. He stole the shirt from me and stretched it out by tying it to the asses of two asses and then making ‘em “Giddyyap!” Back in the 1890s, Lelly used to laugh at my Western wear, but now he’s wearin’ the Western wear hisself, and on stage no less. Ya see? I was a man both behind and ahead of my time.]

Promo Video
[Note: Lelly’s the big dude bumping into the other band members on stage.]

'Slavin' David And Loose Gravel' Website

DOC ROGERS AND THE ROC DODGERS
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'Doc Rogers' Website And Audio Links

Dudes and dudettes, I really dig this ‘Doc Rogers’ stuffs! Be sure to listen to the tunes ‘National Inquirer’, 'Seen It On TV', and especially 'Hey Doc'. Really good stuffs!

[* F-IN’ LELLY: I know I can only stall ‘n’ stonewall just so long, and you’re eventually bound to see this blog bit. Brother, all I can say is: “I love ya, man! And please don’t kill me, as I have a child and five wives to support!”] .
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~ Stephen T. McCarthy

YE OLDE COMMENT POLICY: All comments, pro and con, are welcome. However, ad hominem attacks and disrespectful epithets will not be tolerated (read: "posted"). After all, this isn’t Amazon.com, so I don’t have to put up with that kind of bovine excrement.
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QUESTION: “HOEY? WHO HE?”

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[From the STMcC archive; 2006, August 1st]

I'm kind of a quirky character - "unique" is the word that my friends have used to describe me. Those who were not my friends used other less friendly words from time to time, but those people are all dead now so there's no point in our discussing them.

One of my little "quirks" is to occasionally ask odd questions from out of the blue. It might be a reasonable question such as, "The year of your best Summer?" (Mine was '74, how 'bout yers?) Or the question might be something totally nonsensical like, "What did you do when the crops failed?"

Now, if you expect to remain a friend of mine for very long you will be required to consistently reply immediately with something (at least mildly amusing) that we can develop into a full-blown, long-term nonsensical discussion. Acceptable answers to that last question would go something like: "We turned to cannibalism" or "I died in the famine." You get the idea?

When I suddenly blurted out, "Best guitarist?" to my buddy at work, The Great LC, he answered, "Gary Hoey."
I said, "HOEY? WHO HE?"

I thought I had heard of all the highly acclaimed guitarists but this cat was news to me. Well, the compact disc-addicted Rams fan, The Great LC, loaned me a copy of one of his Hoey CDs and I was turned onto truly one of the most unjustly unknown six-string slingers extant. And it came as an added surprise and bonus when I discovered that 'Who He Hoey' had also written and performed the musical soundtrack for the movie sequel 'ENDLESS SUMMER II' (1994).

The first 'ENDLESS SUMMER' movie (1966) you'll remember was the original full-length movie on surfing that - along with the fabulous music of The Beach Boys - really pushed the sport into the American consciousness, and it is still considered the classic, holy grail of surfing films. (In the days before art house/cult flick movie theatres and Beta/VHS tapes, they used to show 'Endless Summer' at the packed Santa Monica Civic Auditorium to kids like me who rode waves all Summer long in our quest for skin cancer. That was before the invention of sunblock, ya understand!)

So, is 'Who He Hoey' really the "best guitarist"? Well, The Great LC ain't no dummy, and I'd say that Hoey is darned sure in the running; the cat can really sling it! I think I'd still have to side with Danny Gatton because, despite his amazing versatility, I'm not sure Hoey could quite match Gatton's exquisite finesse on numbers like 'Canadian Sunset' and 'Poinciana.' But I'd certainly be interested in seeing the boys duel. That won't happen any time soon though because Gatton "died in the famine" of '94.

But let's briefly examine this soundtrack and see what 'Who He Hoey' is doing on it:

The first thing you'll be happy to find is that this does NOT sound like your typical movie soundtrack album. There is none of that draggy "movie music" with cheesy orchestras sawing away on strings that meander over nondescript melodies - you know wot ahm talkin' 'bout here: FILLER! No way dudes and dudettes, this is a SERIOUS surf guitar Rock album! This is the one movie soundtrack album that REALLY ROCKS! I mean this baby makes most so-called "real" Hard Rock guitar albums sound like the "movie filler" we've been yakkin' 'bout here!

It opens with 'RIPTIDE', a highly electrified excursion into swirling waters of sonic danger. (How many of you blokes know how to swim out of a riptide? There's a secret to it, but I'm keepin' it to myself.)

'BLAST' is a heavy-chorded piece of menace (think Black Sabbath or sumpin' like dat), but 'SWEET WATER' is a fluidly-picked bit of metal funk with neo-reggae rhythms.

Then we get Hoey's outrageous cover of the old War classic, 'LOW RIDER' - the unofficial theme song of my hometown, Los Angeles (maybe you've heard of the place?) It's obvious that Hoey's amplifiers go up to eleven and that's where he keeps 'em set during most of these recordings.

If you don't get mental pictures of some long-haired surfer dude pulling off spinners and hanging ten on his longboard while Hoey plays his original composition 'WALKIN' THE NOSE' then you simply have no imagination whatsoever (and yer gonna be in big trouble when out of the blue I ask you to, "Tell me about your business with Roger O'Vernout.")

'DRIVE' has a nice little melody; it's not gonna wake the children or anything, but it's got a good beat and you can dance to it.

With 'LA ROSA NEGRA' (that means "The White Petunia" in Spanish), Hoey gives us his Carlos Santana impersonation; it's fairly Latinized for a White Surfer-lookin' dude, and it's a "daisy" of a tune.

OK, yer halfway thru this disc now, Surfcats.

'LINUS AND LUCY' is a cover of Vince Guaraldi's famous theme song for the Charlie Brown TV specials, and Hoey launches into it with all kinds of weird harmonic shifts and...somehow I'm thinkin' dat Linus an' da kids (and even Snoopy) would have had a difficult time doing their goofy dances to this version!

'SURFDOGGIN' is one of my favorite tracks. It's a bit o'tickling Country-Surf Pickin'. I dunno but metinks 'Who He Hoey' may have invented a new genre with this composition and it really shows off his nimble fingers as they fly all over that fretboard and make me smile - this piece has a real Sense O'Humor...SERIOUSLY! "No, no, I'm nuh kiddin' you, uh!"

'PIPE' is an almost indescribably moody composition with Hoey's sparking guitar trading licks with Bud "Barefoot and Slippery" Shank's nasty Tenor Sax and Tony Franklin's great grumbling Bass pushing everything through the whitewater - probably my very favorite cut.

Hoey duets with one of his heroes, surf guitar legend DICK DALE, on Dick Dale's classic 'SHAKE & STOMP (Part II)' and it sounds like that wacko who used to juggle live chain saws on Venice Beach...only faster and louder. Forget about waking the children, this one's gonna getcha evicted from yer apartment.

'THEME FROM THE ENDLESS SUMMER' is the theme song from the movie 'Endless Summer' (guess that's why they called it that) and I've liked the tune since I first heard the original recording by The Sandals.

'ESCAPE' is pure Heavy Metal “Shock 'N' Awe” pyrotechnics. You might as well crank it up full blast because the manager's already on his way over to yer unit with the eviction notice in his hand anyway.

And the disc ends with the surprisingly "spiritual" 'THE DEEP' - it's an electric ballad with long notes of sustain. With this one, 'Who He Hoey' proves that still waters really do run DEEP - this is a genuinely moving piece of introspection and a fitting way to end what is otherwise an energetic assault, like an electric eel attack while riding waves in the Big Blue. And for that reason, I love to work-out to this disc! Yer gonna dig it too.

I'll end this review now with just one question for ya:
"What were you doing on the trail with Lewis and Clark?"

~ Stephen T. McCarthy

Links:
Gary Hoey plays ‘Linus And Lucy’ [Live]

Gary Hoey plays ‘Drive’

Gary Hoey plays ‘The Deep’

YE OLDE COMMENT POLICY: All comments, pro and con, are welcome. However, ad hominem attacks and disrespectful epithets will not be tolerated (read: "posted"). After all, this isn’t Amazon.com, so I don’t have to put up with that kind of bovine excrement.
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FUHK AUSTRALIA!

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At school, Casey Heynes had been picked on and picked on and picked on, and finally he reached the end of his tolerance and body-slammed the little bully, Ritchard ("Dick") Gale.

Hey, Little Dick, did you learn a lesson? Little girlie dogs shouldn’t pick on BIG MANLY DOGS! Remember that, Little Dick, for it will serve you well as you go through life.

The school in Australia, where this incident occurred, suspended BOTH boys. But then that shouldn’t surprise us, since everyone knows that the most emasculated countries in the world are Australia, Canada, and France. (The United States of America probably gets only fourth place on the “Most Emasculated Countries” list.)

Internet service: $39.99
Popcorn & Soda Pop: $4.50
The sound of Little Dick's body meeting the pavement?: Priceless!

I love this video!: love it, Love it, LOVE it!

For follow-up crap, you can click here.

~ Stephen T. McCarthy

YE OLDE COMMENT POLICY: All comments, pro and con, are welcome. However, ad hominem attacks and disrespectful epithets will not be tolerated (read: "posted"). After all, this isn’t Amazon.com, so I don’t have to put up with that kind of bovine excrement.
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THE LYIN' KING

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A couple of weeks ago, brother Nappy and I went to have breakfast at our local - oh, what's the name of that restaurant? 'Elephant's Memory Bar And G'rill-a'? 'Tiny Tim's Tearoom'? 'Yoey O'Dogherty's Roadkill Chophouse'? 'Sal Monella's Coffee Shop'?  'Mimi's Cafe'? Wait! That's IT!
'Mimi's Cafe'.

A couple of weeks ago, brother Nappy and I went to have breakfast at our local 'Mimi's Cafe'.

Hmmm..... Now I forget what I was leading up to. I know it had something to do with something.

Oh, to hell with it then! I'm just gonna post a few pictures:

Oh, wait! That's IT! Now I remember what I was going to say.

A couple of weeks ago, brother Nappy and I went to have breakfast at our local 'Mimi's Cafe', and the hostess who seated us just went crazy over the Lion King T-shirt I happened to be wearing. The hostess was a young girl, maybe 18 or 19, with short dark hair and, unfortunately, her face was marked by "teenage skin issues".

Anyway, she seemed very nice, and went on to tell me how much she adored the movie 'The Lyin' King' (Disney stole the idea from Osamu Tezuka and Fred Ladd) and admitted, somewhat sheepishly, that she still had a stuffed Simba at home, which she dearly loves.

After she managed to yank her wide, lusting eyes away from my T-shirt and go back to her station near the front door, brother Nappy suggested that I should give her the shirt off my back. (Well, not right there, exactly, - he wouldn't wish that on other people trying to hold down their food - but sometime later.) I said it was a good idea but I wasn't sure I could give the shirt away.

Nappy asked, "Why? It doesn't mean that much to you, does it?" And I told him, "Yeah, it kinda does. The Countess gave it to me in 1994."

The shirt is very unique (unlike 'The Lyin' King' storyline) in that it was never available to the public. (No wonder the hostess admired it so - she had never seen one like it before!)  In 1994, when my then-girlfriend, the Countess, was working for the Disney Company, the shirt was sold only to employees from a gift shop located on the grounds of the Disney Studios. She and I had gone there one time, and loving the Rafiki character, I also fell in love with the shirt. A short time later, the Countess bought it for me and hid it in the trunk of her car.

We were preparing to take a trip somewhere and the Countess pretended to have left in the trunk of her car something she needed to pack in her suitcase and asked me if I'd go down there and fetch it for her. She was watching from the second floor window of our Los Angeles apartment when I walked down to her car, opened the trunk and found the Rafiki T-shirt waiting there to be discovered by me. Very, very cool!

So, anyway, I'm thinking that tomorrow I might go back to Mimi's Cafe and, if she's there, give my (freshly washed) T-shirt to that nice, young hostess. But before I do, I wanted to save some pictures of it somewhere for safekeeping (and for me, too).

Therefore, if you think of this post at all (although there's no reason for you to do so since it exists solely for myself), think of it more as a photo album than a blog installment, alright?

Incidentally, the Disney Company is an agent of the devil, and I ain't "Lyin'." If you doubt it, read the book 'DISNEY: THE MOUSE BETRAYED' by Peter and Rochelle Schweizer. It's about "Greed, Corruption, and Children At Risk", and it's also about 360 pages.

~ Stephen T. McCarthy

YE OLDE COMMENT POLICY: All comments, pro and con, are welcome. However, ad hominem attacks and disrespectful epithets will not be tolerated (read: "posted"). After all, this isn’t Amazon.com, so I don’t have to put up with that kind of bovine excrement.

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Essential Tools & Techniques For Modern AUSTRALIAN WRITERS Living In Greece

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ESSENTIAL TOOLS:



A personal computer for writing.



[father, son, & holy "spirit"]
Wine for inspiration and relaxation.




A bulldozer for clearing away writer's block.



Thick skin to survive rejection notices.



Rope . . . should an 'escape clause' be needed.


ESSENTIAL TECHNIQUES:

1: After writing dialogue, speak it aloud to see if it sounds natural.

2: While describing scenes, don't forget to incorporate the various senses: sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, libido, and sometimes y.

3: Use fuck shit asshole profanity very sparingly for maximum effect.

4: And... uhm... well... oh, "derrieres and dog doo!" ...Thought I'd something more to say.

~ Stephen T. McCarthy

YE OLDE COMMENT POLICY: All comments, pro and con, are welcome. However, ad hominem attacks and disrespectful epithets will not be tolerated (read: "posted"). After all, this isn’t Amazon.com, so I don’t have to put up with that kind of bovine excrement.
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