nude highway driving

(AP)

I’ve got to get better at tracking upcoming Tokyo events. Saturday was the 25th annual Asakusa Samba Carnival. And I missed it. Again. I guess I can always live vicariously through Flickr.

I wasted some time watching U.S. TV “news” programs, occasionally flipping between them and a “WWE Smackdown!” special. Honestly, I can’t decide which is more ludicrous to watch. I roll my eyes at professional wrestling because so many Americans think it’s real. I vomit when I watch TV “news” because so many Americans think it’s real news.

Not that print news is always very far ahead. The L.A. Times has a big-ass article on the whole Plame scandal, going over the whole mess in depth. I was led to it by a summary in Editor & Publisher, which rightfully points out a disturbing revelation in the story: Time magazine didn’t go public about writer Matt Cooper’s conversations with Karl Rove until after the 2004 election. Editors there were worried about such an “explosive story” during an election year.

Because, you know, the job of the media is to sit on news if it might change the way people think about a presidential candidate.

Anyway, it’s time to run away for a while and forget about the news, forget about blowhard fuckwads, and try to forget about my own stress and anxiety. It begins with a little Seoul-searching next weekend via a first-time journey to South Korea to visit my friend Tim. I think my therapy will consist of beer, spicy food, baby drool and … beer. Unless I totally flip out and run across the border to work for my favorite news agency (so I can come up with stuff like this), all should be well.

Because sometimes, when you’re burned out, you just gotta say fuck it. Or, even better, Phuket (I know, I know). That’s right — it’s going to take two countries to unfry my brain. I have no plans other than a plane ticket to Bangkok, but you would do good to bet on me heading south once I enter Thailand, searching for a beach that has “please become a vegetable in the sun for a week” written all over it. Perhaps something like Phi Phi. I can actually almost relax when I think about it.

Despite being in Japan more than a year, I haven’t traveled anywhere in Asia (including most of Japan). I also haven’t taken a real vacation for myself. It’s definitely time for some catch-up. I can’t leave work for a year (unfortunately), but I think slowly, if I’m patient, I can become half as cool as this guy. I hope the trips are the start of things to come … maybe things like this and, maybe someday, even this.

Hell, the way things are going in our world, I just might go in this direction.

Bill Moyer, 73, wears a “Bullshit Protector”
flap over his ear while President George
W. Bush addresses the Veterans of
Foreign Wars. (AP Photo/Douglas C. Pizac)

… but I wanted to help give exposure to this patriotic veteran. The photo was picked up by The Associated Press, but it didn’t move on all their wires and I doubt any newspaper in America ran the photo. It’s probably not a conspiracy to keep anti-Bush talk out of the public eye — it’s because most U.S. newspapers have arcane-ass obscenity policies, preferring to pretend words like this don’t exist.

Thanks to the internets, you can have your very own Bullshit Protector. (Found via BoingBoing) Lord knows we all need them these days.

Saw an ad for this on the train coming home from a much-needed killer day in Kamakura of hiking, bonding, sweating and eating with Geoffrey and Stacy (thanks again, dudes!).
Tiny Sniper mascara. Get it before it gets you.

It’s not every day that reading a Web site makes me think of Mojo Nixon eating pigshit.

When Xeni at BoingBoing posted a little ditty about Porky Pooper, I immediately was taken back to the Lost Horizon in Syracuse, N.Y., circa 1990. Mojo opened for the Dead Milkmen, who were on their “Fear of a Beige Planet” tour. His set, during which each band member was swigging their own bottle of Jagermeister, was a blast. At one point Mojo simulated some sweet love on a blow-up pig. Then he held the pig up high, squeezed its belly and popped several unwrapped Tootsie Rolls into his mouth (some of course got tossed into the crowd). Good times. The highlight of the show, however, was the Milkmen’s encore, during which Rodney Anonymous started talking about a time when bands were “bigger, meaner and tougher than us.” He then screamed: “We’re talking about the Misfits!” as the band ripped into a beautifully chaotic cover of “Astro Zombies.”

The nostalgia got me thinking about other concert-moment memories that stand out for me. Moments such as:

Black Flag, 1986, a short-lived place called Exile in Tulsa, Okla. — The first song. This was my first real punk show, and I was beside myself (Henry Rollins was, and still is, a hero). I saw the crowd compact at the front of the “stage” (There was no stage — someone just put down some tape, which Henry, who always performed in running shorts only, strongly advised everyone against crossing.) then heard the band tear into “Loose Nut.” Fucking fierce. The place exploded like the beginning of the universe, and I just stood there, wide-eyed, taking in the wonderful display of it all. After the first couple songs I snapped out of it and jumped into the fray. My ticket was $8. The T-shirt, I think, was $6.

Alice Cooper, 1981, Memorial Hall, Joplin, Mo. — This was my first concert, kind of a consolation prize from my parents for not letting me see KISS on their “Dynasty” tour in D.C. two years earlier. I have no idea why Alice came to Joplin for his “Special Forces” tour (Note: site is missing the Joplin show), but he did and my 11-year-old ass was there. He was still kinda in his pseudo-new wave look, so he sported short hair and played “Clones (We’re All).” But he played many of the classics, too. The great moment for me was the encore, when he out with long hair (it apparently was pinned back), screamed “Thought I cut it, didn’t you, fuckers?” and played “School’s Out.” Little-rocker heaven. The next year KISS started a long road of suck, and I discovered Devo, Gary Numan and Sparks, sending me down a new path of tunage.

Rollins Band, 2003, 9:30 Club, Washington, D.C. — This was the tour for the “Rise Above” CD, a benefit for the West Memphis Three. The tour was like the CD — all Black Flag songs, performed by Rollins Band. I couldn’t wait to see Rollins do those songs live again. Keith Morris of the Circle Jerks sang the first few, old-school Black Flag songs. Then the band kicked into “Rise Above” and Rollins came onstage … with fucking Ian Mackaye! Everyone lost their minds. Neither one of them had lost even a tad of intensity. The entire show followed their lead.

Social Distortion, 1996, Ogden Theatre, Denver — I love it when dipshits get publicly humiliated. This was my first Social D show, and it was phenomenal. The band was tight, and Mike Ness was fierce. Then three skinheads who were ganging up (what else?) on people in the pit starting giving the band Nazi salutes. Ness immediately started making fun of them between songs, saying “In L.A. we just beat the shit out of people like you.” The big skinhead tried to rush the stage — Ness threw off his guitar and went after the guy. The bouncers stopped them before anything happened and kicked out the big skinhead and his friend, leaving a little skinny one alone in the pit. He kinda stood in the back, making faces at Ness while he played. Ness called him out, too, but he just stood in the back with a smart-ass grin on his face. Then the crowd started pushing him forward, forcing him to the stage. His smile quickly turned to fear as he realized the entire pit was pushing him forward; he looked like he was going to pee his pants. The bouncers grabbed him and pulled him out before Ness could touch him.

Big Four, 1993, Davey’s Uptown, Kansas City — Ahhh, back when Davey’s was a literal hole in the wall with no real stage (just a marked-off area next to the women’s room) and 85-cent Old Style night on Thursdays. Big Four is two guys — Ernie Locke, lead singer of Sin City Disciples and then the monstrous Tenderloin on vocals, harmonica and voice distortion and some friends of his who played guitar and sang. Both are big boys. From the bluegrassy “Cajun Family Orgy” to a Butthole Surfers-esque cover of “Stayin’ Alive,” they did it all. During the last song the guitar guy had to “take a dump,” so he took the microphone and guitar into the women’s room as Ernie roamed the crowd a bit. The big finish was him emerging from the bathroom, triumphant, and them meeting back at the stage for a final chorus.
OK, it was pretty damn funny and cool at the time.

These are just a few moments that jumped into my head between stressing about work and stressing about my personal life. Please share any memories you have — not of entire great concerts per se (I could spend hours writing about those), but just cool moments that stand out from the gigs you’ve seen.