Another memory floats to the surface:

I couldn't have been much older than 14 or 15. My brother had a friend named Lawrence (he never went by "Larry", it was always Lawrence). He had a dog named Queenie and I guess she tagged along everywhere he went.

On this occasion we were all riding our bikes on the "old highway" in front of my house. Just peddling back and forth, not really going anywhere. Queenie was right there, trying to keep up with us.

A car came toward us...a big car, like a Lincoln or a Cadillac. It was moving slowly, probably no faster than 20 MPH. Lawrence, Charles (my brother) and I pulled to the side of the road. But I don't guess Queenie pulled far enough, because the car ran over her. The driver, some really old woman who probably shouldn't have been allowed to drive a car at all, never swerved from the straight line she was driving. Apparently she never even saw the dog. She certainly didn't turn back to say "I'm sorry" or whatever.

What I'll never forget is how Lawrence reacted, with screams and shouts of "Queenie! Queenie!" He ran to the dead dog's side, bent over her, and wailed.

That's a normal reaction, I know. I'm not trying to make it out to be something it wasn't. But I remember it like it was yesterday and something about the event really touched a nerve within me.

Not too much longer Lawrence got mad at me for some reason and started yelling obscenities as I stood behind the back door of my house. He was really loud, and using language that, though common amongst the youngsters these days, was not acceptable at the time. Even if it were, I got mad because there was a little old lady who lived next door and I couldn't bear the thought of her hearing those words.

Before too long I'd had enough. I busted out of that door like a bull in a rodeo and proceeded to beat that little bastard to a pulp. I have never been a violent man. I wasn't before, and I haven't been since. But that day I was one mean motherfucker and I made damn sure that Mrs. Huggins would never hear that vile talk from Lawrence ever again.

And I think that's why the Queenie incident seems to hold so much significance. I had so much sympathy for this kid when he lost his dog. He wasn't a bad friend. But then, not too much later, here I am wailing on him. And I never saw him again afterwards.

Stay tuned, as more memories float to the surface.

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THE MAN

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My copy of Sun Kil Moon's "April" arrived in the post yesterday. I've only really wanted 3 CDs in the last couple of months. The latest Sigur Ros, Autechre's "Quaristice" and this one. The last album, "Tiny Cities", was good, but it just left me wanting to hear more of Kozelek's original material.

And so here we have it. Over 70 minutes of it (not counting the bonus disc, which I haven't even played yet). My first impression is that the album is not quite as good as Sun Kil Moon's classic debut, "Ghosts of the Great Highway". Thinking back, however, I recall not being altogether impressed with that album the first few times I listened to it. I'm sure that was the result of wanting to compare it with the last Mark Kozelek-fronted release, Red House Painters' "Old Ramon", which had by that time become a favorite of mine. I don't know how long it took, but eventually "Ghosts of the Great Highway became one of my all-time favorite albums. There's only one track on that record ("Lily and Parrots") that I don't absolutely love.

All of which is simply to point out that first impressions can be deceiving when it comes to ANY of Mark's work. "April" sounds like it might take several hearings to grow on me, but I think that once it does I am really gonna like it. A LOT. Maybe one day when I slip into the old familiar melancholy mood and I slap it on---BOOM! It'll hit me like a ton of bricks. I'll finally get it. It will find it's place in the exalted canon of RHP, SKM and Mark Kozelek solo albums.

I've heard a couple of these songs in a primitive acoustic guitar/vocals arrangement on Kozelek's "Little Drummer Boy Live" disc. The versions of "Unlit Hallway" and "Moorestown" sound good there, but that whole album has crappy production where all you hear are the higher registers of the guitars. The vocals are buried way too low in the mix, or sound muffled. At any rate, the fleshed out arrangements of both those songs are wonderful.

Anyhoo, I'll get around to writing a review as soon as I feel like I'm qualified to do so (I'm just now ready to pull together a proper review of the new Sigur Ros...an album for which I am going to have to devise a nickname for...there's no way I'm going to use that cumbersome title they've chosen). So I don't know when that might be, especially since I'm expected that Autechre album in the next couple of days and it may monopolize the player for a little while.

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I stepped outside yesterday and could have sworn I smelled someone cooking on a charcoal grill. I didn't think too much of it, even though it seemed a bit too early to fire up a barbecue. I headed to the post office and that was when I noticed the fire truck. It was in the immediate vicinity of the local optometrist's offices, but as I drove around the block I saw that it was actually the meat packing plant across the street.

That explained the smell of the meat cooking. Before too long the smell had mutated somewhat into a less savory odor and it permeated the whole town.

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I caught the last 15 minutes of the Porter Wagoner show on RFD-TV. It sent me back in time to when my dad, my brother and I used to watch it every Sunday morning over 35 years ago. It is surprising how well I remember this stuff. Still, as goofy as I recalled Speck Rhoads to be, he was actually about 10 times goofier. Not necessarily in a "funny" way, either. More like a "scary" way. It is somewhat surreal to see these old shows and to mark how much things have changed, but I swear Speck was the dictionary definition of "bizarre".

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This is cool:

THE CASSETTE TAPE SKELETON

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I've had a lot of negative things to say about Bob Larson, and today I received a comment from a woman who has had first hand experience of Larson's maniacal methods. There are 3 YouTube pieces (audio only) in which she describes the experience in an interview. I found it very interesting and it further confirmed my negative opinion of Mr. Larson and his "ministry".

INTERVIEW WITH THE VICTIM
OF A VAMPIRE
Part One
Part Two
Part Three

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Cruel humor sites-of-the-day:

FAIL.com

Shipment of Fail

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Ever wonder what it's like to work at McDonald's? Neither have I, but thanks to the miracle of internet technology we can all share the experience with...

THE SIMULATOR

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JOKER ANSWERS HIS FAN MAIL

First off, I’d like to say thank you to all my fans who sent postcards, e-mails and even a few old-fashioned letters to me. There’s nothing I like more than answering these queries. I call it “damage control”. But enough of that, already. Let’s get to the mail…

My first question comes from Charles in Cedar City, Ohio. Charles asks, “Will your next kiss be a mistake?”

Why would ANY kiss be a mistake, Charley ol’ boy? As long as it doesn’t involve the chewing and swallowing of the tongue.

That one was easy. Come on, Chuck, if you’re gonna waste my time with lame-ass questions you might as well save yourself the trouble. Next time I won’t bother with you.

Next up in the pile, a letter from Corrina, who writes, “Dear Joker. I am an elderly woman living on a fixed income. I have no one to care for me and I’m prone to falling down regularly. The Fire Department say they won’t bother sending out people to help me up if I don’t do something about the situation. So I was hoping you might shed some insight by answering the one question I really need to have answered right now: When was the last time you cried?”

Goodness gracious, Corrina. That’s hard one. It has been a long, long time. Let me ponder it for a moment…(60 seconds later)…okay, I recall it now. I was watching a movie, “Reservoir Dogs”. There’s this scene in it were a hoodlum is torturing a cop, pouring gasoline on him, threatening to set him ablaze. Then he cuts that motherfucker’s ear right off the side of his noggin. With a straight razor. I thought “Well, goddamn! That’s got to hurt!” And they were playing an old song by Stealer’s Wheel in the background, “Stuck in the Middle With You”. It really made an impression on me, because two weeks later, when the classic rock radio station played the song, I had to pull to the side of the road as memories of the unlucky police officer flooded my mind. The blood. The screams. The stench of gasoline. The cold, glistening steel of the blade that severed his ear. It was all too much. I thought, “That could have been me. Damn straight, it could well have been me.” So, in a wave of empathy I burst into tears. My entire being was shaken as the sobs racked my body. I felt the pain of existence deep in my belly and the tears flowed like sweet honey from the rock. Just thinking about it now makes me sad.

So let’s move on, shall we?

Dave “Big Dave” Davidson, a proud citizen of Jacktown, Colorado, sends a video shout-out to the ole Joker, via YouTube. He says, “Joker, you are one incredible human being. You’re like Superman, as far as I’m concerned. Like Superman with no super powers and a back pack filled with Kryptonite hanging from your shoulders like a merciless albatross. I say that in a good way. So tell me this…where is your biological father right now?”

Alas, Mr. Davidson, I am unable to answer your question for fear that I might incriminate myself in regards to a murder investigation that is currently in the “cold case” files at the OSBI. As for all the Superman junk…what makes you think I don’t have any super powers? And that’s not Kryptonite in the back pack. It’s next month’s rent. A nice big haul from the land of great coffee, Columbia.

A couple of quickies before I have to leave (just for now, folks, I have a lot more mail to answer).

To “Jen in the Pen”: No, I am not currently involved in a relationship.

To Lonesome Bill from Pawhuska: What bothers me? Not knowing the reason for any of this.

To Elle (of Ozark Back Porch fame): No, I have never “made out on a boat”. I have, however, made lunch on a boat.

To “the Crusher”: Yes, I have seen many people being shot and/or stabbed. I have seen them, I have pulled the trigger on many of ‘em, and yes, I have plunged knives into several backs. I have seen and dealt out uncountable means of extinguishing the spark of life within the souls of many so-called friends (and one or two ACTUAL friends who momentarily pissed me off). Death is the card that I deal, and so, “Crusher”, I am surprised that you were unaware of my cruelty.

And finally, to the girl with the thorn in her side, somewhere in San Paulo, Tennessee: My cock ring is pink. I think that was the only color available in the machine from which I purchased it. It was only a quarter when I bought it. It’s never been used, I’m somewhat ashamed to say. It has become quite useless having been stored in my wallet for so many years. Send me a P.O. Box and I’ll mail it to ya.

Till next time, this is the ol’ Joker saying, “Keep them cards and letters coming!”

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