Bowling, for Music

Sometimes I wonder if I’m nuts, thinking about music so much. I mean, it’s not like I even play an instrument very well. Perhaps it’s that very lack of ability in music that causes me to overcompensate by listening and reading and writing so much about it.


The term hobby sounds harmless enough. Obsession is actually kinda sexy. But the bleak reality is an ever growing stack of CDs, forever tipping over and taking up more room than my actual children.

So it’s a cause for worry. Jaybee, I’ll tell myself, maybe it’s time to grow up and merely like music.


But then along comes a guy who outdoes me by a mile, leaving me feeling both very relieved and a touch jealous. His name’s David Bowling, and he writes for BC (blogcritics)

Here’s his bio, with my admittedly envious commentary:

I have been collecting vinyl records for over forty years….
Yeah, so what? I’ve been doing it for…..forty SIX years! In your face DB!


…and my collection is approaching 50.000 records…
Holy shit, I’ve got barely 1,400. Okay, I surrender! The guy’s officially my hero.


My wife Susan and children, Stacey and Amy, have learned to humor my passion.
And suffer from starvation no doubt. And I thought my wife and kids were good sports.


I am now settled in beautiful Whispering Pines, North Carolina...
No doubt because the Band told him to.


…where I work hard…
Allright, stop showing off.


…listen to music…
No shit. You’d better, or else eat those records.


… and write reviews for Blogcritics.
What, and get paid for it too? Well, it’s official now: FML.


And what’s his method? He takes an artist and - get this - REVIEWS EVERY ONE SINGLE ONE OF THEIR ALBUMS!


Why, you might ask? The same reason why a dog licks his balls, I guess. Because he can! He apparently has every record ever recorded. His house isn’t in Whispering Pines, NC. His house IS Whispering Pines, NC.


With all due respect Mr. Bowling, we all have a limited time on this Earth, so it’s okay to give in to what Al Capone link would call our “enthusiasms” and ignore the rest. We are not meant to be encyclopedias, after all.


Besides, there are very few artists who deserve such attention. And someone who would dutifully review the 17th album by Yes link (or the Allman Brothers link , for that matter) had to have something wrong with him. He carries completism – a concept I’ve now officially come down against - to it’s (il)logical extreme.


Someone who listens to music so comprehensively simply cannot be very passionate about it, I tell myself.


But I’m wrong, and I know it. Encyclopedias are exactly what the professionals are supposed to be, god help them. Meanwhile, I get to f*ck off and only write about what I feel like. Base envy has led me to mock David’s dogged commitment, and for that I apologize. (By the way, per David, Yes’s 17th album is slightly better than their 16th, but quite up to par with their 15th. Or was it their 14th? What a life, I thought…)


My method is more like:
• I don’t even have the first album, but I remember hearing it at my friend’s house in 1973. I therefore conclude that the artist has “potential”, but is somewhat “unfocused”.
• I really should listen to the second, but it’s in the basement. I can save a LOT of time by just calling it a “lost masterpiece”.
• I only have the third and fourth albums on 8-track, so I really don’t remember them. Let’s call this a “transitional period”.
• And the rest I don’t have, and I’m frankly am not interested. Hence, my conclusion is that the artist has met with commercial success and I need not add anything to the prevailing wisdom, or that this is a late “unappreciated” (especially by me) period.


Thus with a minimum of time and effort– between dinner and the dishes, let’s say - I can provide you, dear reader, with “fresh insight” or “a unique perspective” on “the high points” of an artist’s career.


But David’s a better human being than me, and I just can’t stand people like that. It’s a love/hate relationship. I love me and hate him. Not true, I hate me most of the time, too.


For the moment, though, I love him, because he’s doing Carole King, which, as David reminds us (not in a nasty way. David’s better than that.) does not begin with “Tapestry”, but, rather, with “Writer”, which is always flying under my radar.


And yes, I could avoid this whole problematic relationship, by just going to allmusic.com link and reading about her whole career and discography, but that’s a place of collective knowledge and opinion. And while it does have its virtues, it does sometimes result in each record in an artist’s discography viewed as being the best, because each review is written by someone different. Sometimes it’s better to just have one consistent viewpoint taking on each record, one after the other (after the other).


So long live David. He makes me feel like shit. He makes me feel great. And, him being the nice guy that he is, I’m sure this is all very, very important to him.


Plus he uses the baby’s picture in his profile.  (Oh, David, I so want to hate you. Why do you make it so hard?)


Come on David, do Elton John next. I dare you!

Secret History: 1974

My doubts about the mainstream are only growing by now. Good music is officially “hard to find”, at least for me, a seventeen year old. By which I mean I can no longer simply turn the radio on and expect to hear something I really like.

Forget AM radio. Never being fond of brass or strings, I only liked Motown from a distance. So I missed out on the pleasures of much ‘70s soul.

And FM? I could get by but not without constantly changing the station. So there’s very little below that I actually heard there and enjoyed at the time. So with very few exceptions, it would only be later that I’d find the records below.



The following, is more or less in descending order of quality:

The one true masterpiece is Richard and Linda Thompson’s “I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight” which reminds me of the first Paul Simon album - simple arrangements and great songs. But Richard's also got his guitar and wife Linda singing along, making this one of the very best of the decade.

Randy Newman seemed to be on a mission to piss off the world - something he wouldn't quite accomplish until a few years later with "Short People". He started with his very weird first solo record, moved onto “Twelve Songs”, where phrases like “yellow man” and “darkies” popped up all over the place. “Sail Away” was a bit of a relief, but on “Good Old Boys”, he goes all out with the strings and tells stories of the American South, now using the N word.

What Randy's got going for him, though, is brilliant songwriting. "Marie" is one of the greatest love songs ever (but only when sung by Randy himself). “Louisiana 1928” would be merely moving if it didn't also remind you of Louisiana 2005. This one's my favorite by him.

If you like to read about music, you’ve already heard about Big Star’s “Radio City”. So all I’m going to say is that what you’ve heard is true. On first listen you might not think much of it because the Beatles were better. Just remember that the Beatles were better than everybody.

“Feats Don't Fail Me Now” was the Little Feat album that made me a fan. Little Feat remind me of beer – the first one you have is always the best.

I'm still waiting for someone to turn “Between Today and Yesterday” into a Broadway musical. Alan Price proves that he's got it with this take on his childhood in the coal towns of England. There are moments on this record that elicit such an emotional response in me (something that I’ll explain at a later time) that I am certain most people will think I'm nuts. I’d like a second opinion.

Neil Young was well into his blue period by now, and people (including me) were beginning to wonder about him, but only after first actually purchasing his records. At first, I was disappointed by “On the Beach”. Side one could be better. I heard a better “See the Sky About to Rain” on a live bootleg with just Neil on the piano. And “Vampire Blues” just isn't funny enough. Ah, but side two! This isn't mood music. It's trance music. And it probably sent most people scurrying back to side one. But it was where I wanted to live. “Motion Pictures” is one of his great depressing songs, but it's the finale "Ambulance Blues" that’s a masterpiece. You're all just pissin in the wind….

I've come to distrust those albums with too serious a theme. But Al Stewart is very likable, so his take on history - “Past Present and Future” - is enjoyable anyway. And like me, you don’t have to believe the Nostradamus stuff to love the last song. This one’s just before Al hits the big time.

You’d think a white British guy trying to sing New Orleans-style and basically stealing Little Feat’s sound, would piss me off a little more. But Robert Palmer’s “Sneakin Sally Through the Alley” ends up sounding better than it sounds, maybe because he used Little Feat as his band. This one bought him a lot of good will from me. And it would only be when he started wearing a suit that I began to find him unbearable.

Most Billy Joel fans love “Turnstiles” or “The Stranger” the best. But don’t overlook “Streetlife Serenader”. It’s a little calmer than his major label debut, and less supercilious (it’s really a word, I swear. Someone called me it once.) There’s some filler on it, but the ones that aren’t, like “Roberta” are quietly wonderful.


And although the following records technically came out in 1973, I’m putting them into 1974, because the artists had already released something else in ’73. That, and ‘cause I felt like it:
It took until “Europe 72” for me to like the Grateful Dead. I then went back to rehear what I had been missing. So the subsequent “Bear’s Choice” almost slipped through the cracks. Plus, I preferred their harmonies to Pigpen’s blues. But side one is gentle and side two is almost hypnotic. Thank you, Pigpen!

One of the highlights of my musical life was that Saturday morning in my room doing homework when I first heard “Incident on 52nd St”. Another was that Sunday afternoon, again in my room, hearing “Rosalita” followed by “NYC Serenade”. I would have sworn that Bruce Springsteen was black or Puerto Rican. I found his mix of rock and roll, latin horns, semi-soul music, and female background choruses intoxicating. Then, when I actually bought “The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle” and found that these three songs took up side two, running seven, seven and ten minutes respectively. One of the great, and most audacious, sides in all of rock and roll. Side one’s a bit tame in comparison, but quite good under any other circumstances.



In sum, like the year before, I’m spending more and more time in my room listening to music, instead of hanging with friends doing so. That’s because my friends and I didn’t share the same tastes. That splintering of taste I referred to in prior posts is continuing unabated.

In retrospect, 1974 was not a bad year. The problem is that you should not have to wait for “in retrospect” to know.

To iPod or Not iPod

Sometimes people stop me in the street and ask "Hey Jaybee, you're really cool, so I wanna do the things you do. What’s your take on the iPod?"

My answer to them is: why would I use an iPod when I can already hear the voices in my head? This is usually sufficient for them, and they walk away in deep thought. But I have to admit that it got me thinking.

Last year, I started taking the train to work again, and I noticed that certain things about the subway got on my nerves(!) My train is elevated for most of the trip, so you can get cell phone reception. So some passengers yak incessantly during the commute. I’m an avid reader (i.e., a person who prefers books to people and real life), so I found myself looking up every minute or so, glaring at these perfectly nice people who I wished were dead. I soon learned to not sit next to two women catching up on old times (i.e. things that had happened since their conversation yesterday).

So I decided to use my cell phone to listen to music. And it was great! What had once been a noisy slog to and from work had now turned into another opportunity to hear whatever music I wanted. Living with three other people can constrain your more extreme inclinations in this area. Now I my ears could roam free.

The high point occurred one cool autumn evening on the commute home. I was tired but happy when this ambient instrumental came on. But for some reason I couldn’t place it. This was weird since all of the music came from my own record collection. Was it Eno? Aphex Twin? It took a full minute to place it. “Treefingers” by Radiohead, from “Kid A”. In that moment I had transcended that inherent limitation of enforced familiarity.

But familiarity was good, too. There were other times when I positively stomped my foot in happiness at what I was hearing. “Crooked” by Wussy. That must have looked strange to the two ladies trying to catch up.

But even so, there was something about all this that made me uncomfortable. I felt separated from the world around me. I don’t work in the best neighborhood, and not knowing what’s going on in the immediate area is not a good practice. Not to mention not being able to hear the Mack trucks that speed through the intersections I cross.

One morning, when I was still driving to work I spotted a ten year old about to cross the street at least a block away from me. There was no light at that corner, but he was going anyway, looking straight ahead. I noticed that he was wearing ear buds, obviously listening to an iPod. I began tapping the horn to get his attention, slowing down all the while, but the kid kept crossing. I kept tapping and slowing down until I came to a complete stop at the corner, where he walked right in front of my car without once glancing over at me or the car.

I always regretted not getting out of the car and yelling at him about what he’d just done. I guess I was afraid I’d end up scaring him, and I scare kids too much already. Plus I was late for work.

This stayed with me. As much as I like the idea of improving my environment by adding what I like best – music – to it. I feel like I’m missing something. While music adds to the environment, iPods take something away, too.

And I’ve had enough close calls with cars and such, that the last thing I ought to be doing is limiting helpful sensory input.
So I’m pro Ipod, but anti earbud.

Moreover, while I detest most of what I hear from passing car radios there is something valuable about hearing other people’s music. It provides us with an opportunity to share something, even if most of the time we just end up in a volume war.

So let’s play our music for each other. If we can avoid being obnoxious about it, we might learn something, instead of just being content in our own little worlds.

Good Old Rock and Roll(ers)

Mellow-Life Crisis:



The Jaybees attended a graduation barbeque back in June, where Friend/Music Lover Peter asked what I’ve been listening to lately. Having no short term memory, I couldn’t think of any of the dozen or so CDs I’ve gotten this year so far, except Sufjan Stevens and Belle and Sebastian. This must have smacked of “mellowing” to Peter, who’s finding himself listening to harder and harder rock and roll. Our sons all love the Dropkick Murphys, but he’s gone a step further, taking to singing Blood for Blood’s “Outlaw Anthems” in his car at the top of his lungs.


Me? I’m even more all over the place than usual. But somewhere in there amongst the jazz, world music and Bob Dylan, there must have been at least some hard rock. Deerhunter has the guitars, but they’re a bit dreamy. And Pavement are just too ironic to let it all hang out. Damn it, my music has been too damned “mature” lately.

Well, there was “Bossanova” by the Pixies…


… which came out in 1990 – one year after “Doolittle”, which some consider the best album of the 1980s. I’d gotten it late in 1989 but found that, while there were a few great moments, there were just too many weird ones. Overrated, I decided. And since it was one of the last vinyl records I ever got, it sat un-played in my basement for years.


So although I wasn’t dying to get another Pixies record, “Bossanova” hit my radar when I heard that it smoothed over some of their rougher edges. Well, I thought, that’s all the Pixies really needed. And now with them doing reunion tours and being canonized in documentaries, all I needed was a steep discount price, which I got at Other Music, my new favorite record store. Okay, it was a used copy, but I’m okay with that. I’ve grown (even cheaper)!


And we were all getting into the full sound and punch-in-the-chest guitar of “Bossanova” when Mrs. Jaybee, who loves “Monkey Gone to Heaven”, asked where “Doolittle” was. In the basement, next to the washing machine, hint, hint, I said. For someone who loved his vinyl so much, she countered, I didn’t get much laundry done. She downloaded it.


And it was no contest. Like “Tonight’s The Night” coming on at a “Homegrown” listening party link, “Doolittle” kicked “Bossanova”’s ass. Doolittle was awesome!


So what’s going on here? Why is “Doolittle” so much better?

Well, on “Bossanova”, the band is loud and the sound full, though somewhat homogenized, making too many songs sound the same. On “Doolittle”, the sound is modeled to each song. And it’s not a constant barrage. Instead, instruments go in and out as needed, making everything that much more dynamic. The quiet spots make the crescendos that much more powerful.


The only time Black Francis sounds insane (just a bit upset, really) on “Bossanova” is on “Rock Music”. Elsewhere he’s just a bit strange. But on “Doolittle”, he’s eight different kinds of crazy at least. And he’s not alone. With Kim Deal singing la la la la on “Gouge Away”, it’s like the family from “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” or “Pink Flamingos” formed a band.


Which brings me to my other big problem with “Bossanova”: where’s Kim? Oh, you occasionally hear her doing background vocals, but instead of being part of the family, here she’s just a member of the band.


As is drummer David Lovering, who, on “Doolittle” is banging that snare drum every time you think it’s time to sit back and relax. He even sings a creepy little number, adding to the family vibe.


It’s hard to fault Joey Santiago’s guitar. He’s doing everything he can to make the music strong. It’s just that the music’s a bit of a bore. So there’s very little of the almost comic book zaniness of “Doolittle”.


And yet I’d be wrong to call “Bossanova” bad. You’d think it was excellent if you never heard “Doolittle”.


It comes down to “Bossanova” beging a bit glossy. I don’t blame Black Francis for wanting to hit the big time. The howls and screeches of “Doolittle” were only going to take him so far.




I’m Younger Than That Now:


But none of this explains why “Doolittle” got to be better than “Bossanova”. The music didn’t change, but apparently we did. Why do we now prefer the screeches to the gloss?


Flashback to Thanksgiving 1988: The Jaybees are getting ready to go to the in-laws for dinner. We’re trying to prepare hors d'oeuvres and get Daughter Theresa ready. She’s a few months old and a bit colicky. It’s all very slow going, especially with me flipping vinyl every twenty minutes.


This particular day I’m playing Sonic Youth’s “Daydream Nation”. Not exactly holiday music, but great music is great music, right? It should be suitable for any occasion and be recognized by all for its greatness. Alas, it didn’t turn out that way. By the middle of side three, Mrs. Jaybee is asking me to please turn that sh*t off (as was Daughter Theresa, in her own way) – something she’d never done before. Okay, lesson learned.


It’s understandable that, with an infant, you need as little noise as possible. So, as a consequence, we were playing less loud music. Was this how it happened, I wondered? Were we now on the slippery slope to respectability? Would we one day wake up to find we no longer liked rock and roll?


After all, it’s been twenty years and one child since we first got “Doolittle”, and Mrs Jaybee liked it even less than me at the time. But somehow we didn’t follow the usual pattern – that dreaded mellowing out as you get older.


Sure, when the kids were smaller, they tended to watch a lot of TV so me and the Misses just weren’t listening to much of anything for a while. But as they grew, and we got more control over our time/energy/entertainment options, we found that, explorations of other genres aside, we’re as ready for the loud stuff as ever. Maybe even more so.


Maybe not quite as much as Friend Peter, but that’s okay.


I keep getting records, and as they pile up, I try to choose more carefully as I go. I don’t want just any record. I want a something that has the power to alter me, even as there are a thousand things conspiring to keep me the same. My own age and fears included.


“Bossanova” – as good as it is - is just any record. “Doolittle” will alter you.  And I’m looking for something vital, as I know I become a little less so every day.


And I think that’s what Friend Peter wants, too.

Secret History: 1973

Like the Big Bang, the explosion of music in the sixties hurled huge chunks of brilliance through space.  As time went on, they were no longer the size of stars, but rather that of planets and asteroids.  The great music was there, just not in your face.  It was more spread out and harder to find. But it was there.  I swear.



But we were arguing about it more.  We didn’t all like the same things anymore.  Or rather, we were starting to dislike stuff, instead of just being indifferent to it.



And speaking of arguments, it's a bit embarrassing for me to write anything about the New York Dolls for a couple of reasons.  One is that I hated them on principle at the time.  I was a big Allman Brothers fan.  The Allmans weren't exactly fashion plates, which suited me fine, as I was of the belief that my music heroes, unlike the super-heroes in the comics (link) I loved, should not have uniforms or costumes.  Music was all.  Everything else was a distraction, especially a bunch of guys dressed as women.  David Bowie was a macho man in comparison, and I didn’t like him, either.



But now the other reason to be embarrassed about expressing an opinion about them is that I might overcompensate and go to the other extreme, in the urge to make up for past wrongs.  I don’t want to do that.  I’d look like an idiot.  And you know, that never happens.



But screw that.  I'm here to repent.  The first New York Dolls album is simply one of the greatest rock and roll albums ever.  It's loud, brash, noisy and yes, trashy.  In other words, it’s everything rock ‘n roll should be.  It took a couple of years for me to really take it in.  At first listen, it's just a lot of clatter.  But when you find yourself loving the fourth song on side two, you know you've got a record that goes deep.



John Prine may have been overcompensating, too.  On his third album, “Sweet Revenge”, he moves away from the stripped-down-to-practically-nothing sound of “Diamonds in the Rough”, gracefully avoiding “pretty”, and ends up with what might be his best record.  Funny, rocking and sometimes beautiful.



I always found that reggae sounded best when it was hot as hell outside and you were sitting by some water, getting high.  Since my house doesn’t face a body of water, and my kids have no interest in seeing me high (I think it would ruin it for them), I don’t get much opportunity to experience this optimal setting.  That’s where the soundtrack to The Harder They Come comes in.  It’s a perfect introduction to reggae, and if you’re lucky like me, you’ll get the anniversary edition which contains a bonus disc of other hits from Jamaica (“I Can See Clearly Now”, “The Israelite”) at the time.





Countdown To EcstasyThere were no big AM hits on “Countdown to Ecstasy”, Steely Dan’s second album, (unless you count “My Old School” or “Show Biz Kids”).  But, in a lot of ways, it’s the quintessential SD album.  Fans love “Razor Boy”, “The Boston Rag”, and “Boddissatva”.  The guitars are working overtime here.  And not too jazzy.  Yet.







AquashowElliot Murphy made one of the all-time “Records That Annoyed Jaybee's Brother” with “Aquashow”, and I still can’t figure out why.  We've got the guitars and organs to give you that “Blonde on Blonde” feel.  The subject is a bit more Velvet Underground, though.  Okay, Elliot doesn't have the greatest voice, kind of a high pitched whine actually, but everything else coalesces into a great rock and roll record.



Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J.And then there’s Bruce.  The Boss.  Whose “Greetings from Asbury Park” kinda gets lost amongst his other records.  I can still recite every word to “Blinded by the Light”. (His is still the best version. The Hold Steady were probably conceived while this song was playing), “For You” and “It’s Hard to be a Saint in the City”, especially the wordy bridges.  I know you love “Spirit in the Night” and “Growing Up”.  But I love “The Angel” and “Does This Bus Stop on 82nd Street?”  Maybe my second favorite Springsteen album.



O Lucky Man! (LP Version)Back when weird movies were just beginning to entice me to into the city, “Oh, Lucky Man!” had the added attraction of the having the band playing not only on the soundtrack but right in the middle of the action.  Alan Price used to be in the Animals, playing that great organ on “House of the Rising Sun”.  (You can also catch him hanging with Bob Dylan in “Don't Look Back”.  How cool is that?)  Here he gives a slightly skimpy eight songs to this strange film, but they're all winners.



Valley Hi/Some Days You Eat the Bear and Some Days the Bear Eats YouThere are a number of attractions on “Valley Hi” by Ian Matthews.  One is his covers of early Jackson Browne, Richard Thompson and Mike Nesmith songs.  The other is his pretty voice.  He also does the version of “Seven Bridges Road” that the Eagles stole for their totally useless live album.  But anyway, this is pretty as heck.







BlondelIf you can handle Valley Hi, you’re ready for “Blondel” by the Amazing Blondel.  But be warned, the inside cover shows a guy sitting in his bare feet.  It’s that kind of record, and a prime example of mid-seventies English folk music with a pop gloss.  Depending on your point of view, this is either a beautiful masterpiece, as I thought at the time, or something that should come with a warning label for diabetics.  I’m betting you’ll like it.



ByrdsThe Byrds briefly reunited for an eponymous and much maligned album.  It does suffer in comparison to their earlier albums.  For some weird reason they do two Neil Young songs - one a great version of “See the Sky About to Rain”.  Chris Hillman and Gene Clark add the melody.  Roger must have needed the cash.  Not bad.  Really.







Journey's End/I'll Be ThereMatthew Fisher is the guy who wrote the organ melody on “A Whiter Shade of Pale”, and it took him over forty years to get the royalties for it.  And he spends most of “Journey's End” - his first solo record – feeling sorry for himself about it.  He's got the whiny voice to match, too.  But he writes nice melodies so it all goes down nicely.  It was truly made for sensitive sixteen year old boys like me, who hung our in out rooms listening to music like this, instead of going out and having a good time.





And maybe that was the problem.  When I look at 1973, I see a lot of music suited for isolation, and not much for community.  What did we agree on?  Maybe “Innervisions”, but not much else. 

And that lame metaphor I started with?  All I can say is that it’s easy to see the stars at night.  But you need a telescope for the other stuff.

Nook for the Schnook

As I get older I’m taking special pleasure in dealing with young people in the service industry. I get to act/be ignorant about technical things, and ask dumb, obnoxious questions, trying the patience of the most saintly young salesperson, and thus confirming their budding belief that people - and older ones in particular - are idiots.
I’ve done this a number of times, so Mrs. Jaybee is used to it. So I now resort to taking the kids along. I consider the possibility of an embarrassing public display, which kids just love, icing on the cake.

Well, try as I might, I couldn’t shake the composure of the young lady trying to sell me a Nook. Actually, that’s not true. She was standing behind the counter at Barnes and Noble, minding her own business, when the Jaybee family approached.

I more or less accosted her, and although the device was displayed behind a glass case, I would say things like “How dare you thrust this new fangled (I love saying newfangled now.) contraption (another favorite) in my face?”

I proceeded to use sentences beginning with the tried and true:
• When I was your age…
• In my time…
• What, real books aren’t good enough for you?
• You’re just trying to lure me in, and then you’ve got me hooked…
• It’s just a device for brainwashing* people…
Having just read “The Lost Symbol” by Dan Brown, I may have hinted at a plot by the Masons.

And generally acted like the very existence of a Barnes and Noble in that location was somehow an imposition on me.

Now some of you may wonder why I would do such a thing. But, c’mon! Get with the program, baby boomers! You and I are now on the wrong end of our life span, while these young people are at their peak physically, mentally, emotionally. They can take it! And don’t you consider it your duty to suck as much life out of them as possible?

And when you finally buy the thing (and you always intended to anyway) act like you’ve somehow been wronged and that they owe you a favor. Try to get the sales person’s cell number and address with a promise/threat of a call or visit if the slightest “problem” occurs.

So, if you’ve harbored a secret ambition to make young people old prematurely, here are some tips for making the biggest Pain In The Ass (I call it the PITA list.) of yourself:

1. When they hand you the device, hold it upside down.

2. When they correct you, hold it back to front.

3. No matter how visible the On button is, always loudly ask “How do you turn this darned thing on?”

4. Repeat step 3 for the Off button.

5. Always say that it’s too small.

6. Then say it’s too big.

7. Ask if it comes with HBO, even if it’s a toaster.

Somewhere, there’s a naïve hipster standing behind a sales counter, ready to do his best at work, and someday join the Peace Corps. It’s your job to get him to start drinking heavily and work at the post office.

So let's get out there and do this!

Oh, by the way, the Nook is pretty cool.

But don’t tell them I said so.

Comics Relief, Part 5: The Thrilling Anti-Climax

In the shocking climax of our legendary last episode, Jaybee revealed that perhaps, after four long drawn out posts about his comic obsession, he may not be crazy after all. We've been eavesdropping outside his "doctor's" office just for fun, and hoping to find out something even more embarrassing.


Alas, it's been an exercise of diminishing returns, as Jaybee seems only slightly more pathetic that he did three posts ago.


We are now contemplating reasons why we shouldn't kick the shit out of him for wasting our time. But there are still some Tostito's left, so we'll finish them first.


Oh, yeah. Stay tuned for…oh, who gives a rat's ass, anyway?


Jaybee: So I’ve come full circle.

Doctor: Christ I hate it when patients say that. All it means is that they’ve just figured out that they’re going in circles. I could have told them that!

Jaybee: What I’m trying to say, doctor, is that with “Marvel Civil War”, I read a whole bunch of comics, felt like I got about half the story, and ran out of time and energy before pursuing it any further. And I’m certain I’ve missed some absolutely legendary issues. Kind of like 45 years ago.

I’d like to say that I’m done - that I’m past all these foolish things. But I’d be lying. Because if they provide joy in any form – be it an old TV show or a comic book - they’re not foolish at all.

Comics were great in the sixties, and then slowly began to suck again. That’s okay. It’s just entropy. But then comics took a giant step forward in the eighties with “The Dark Knight”, “Watchmen” and many, many others that someone smarter than me could name. The stories are darker and considerably more violent. All in all, they’re as good as they ever were. If anything, it’s too big an ocean for me to swim in. I’ve already got too many books still to read. So I’ve got to be particular about my time.

One of the great strides comics have made since I was a kid, is the far greater number of female super heroes. Isn’t it wonderful that young girls had heroes in a formerly male dominated genre blah, blah, blah? (The tight fitting costumes and incredible bodies don’t hurt, either.)

So doctor, to quote the Elephant Man (No, not a super hero in the traditional sense) I say to you, I am not an animal!!! I am a man? Okay, forget that. I’ll settle for not an animal.

And besides, what are those millions of adults in movie theaters doing watching “Captain America”, “The Green Lantern” and “Thor” doing if not reading comic books, except without the actual reading? It’s one thing for a grown man, if there is such a thing, to say the words “Doc Oc” and “Silver Surfer”, but grown women? Come on. How nuts can I be?

I supposed I can take one alleged step up on the popular culture evolutionary scale and rent “Land of the Giants” DVDs, if for nothing else, to see if Deanna Lund could possibly have been as good looking as I remember.

And to see if they make it back to Earth.

Doctor: Well our time is just about up… As you said, I’m SURE you’re completely cured. But if you think of any other…enthusiasms, like Tonka Toys or Martchbox Cars, and would like to schedule a follow up appointment…

John: Well, we just saw the Monkees in concert…

Doctor: Don’t worry. Everybody likes the Monkees. I was there, too.

Jaybee leaves the doctor’s office, passing several patients, asleep by the door, and heads for the boat off of Shutter Island.



Next time: Jaybee revisits an old nemesis – trying to understand music – and, as usual, fails.