Reminiscing with strong coffee on Sunday mornings can lead to all sorts of things; yesterday I was just looking for funny stuff and came across this old clip of the immortal Richard Pryor on the Johnny Carson show. He just simply and plainly explained the truth about people with addictive personalities – we cannot stop at two drinks like you “normal” people – as Richard puts it, you don’t stop until you’re sure all the alcohol is gone. The way you wake up not knowing where you are – although I’ve never woken up driving 90 miles an hour – that’s reserved for big-time stars I think. Or someone telling you what you did the night before – and you don’t even recognize the person telling you. Oh yeah, that happens.
So why stay completely sober? Because it just gets out of control SO EASILY. My last drinky night was at a September 3, 1992 Cramps show at First Avenue in Minneapolis, so the day after that…that is my quitting day I guess. I don’t do the AA thing, that just doesn’t resonate with me
So here’s to you, Richard Pryor, we were so lucky to have you.
And thanks, Lux Interior, for the best last night of tearing it up possible:
My friend J. Otis is recuperating from a serious illness and this campaign to raise money to help pay for some of his expenses is over the half-way point to meeting its goal. Please contribute and help out one of the Twin Cities’ greatest talents. Thank you very much.
THIS JUST IN: To my peeps in the Twin Cities – there is a fundraiser being held at Intermedia Arts, here is the info:
Members from the community are coming together to produce a benefit show honor and celebrate local treasure J. Otis Powell‽ on Wed July 15th at Intermedia Arts (7pm). We would love to have you there to witness & contribute to the wall poetry/word/image mural that will hang in J. Otis’s recovery room. Come commune, jam and celebrate with us.
Purchase your ticket here:
And some old friends were a spinnin, mindfully (well, I spin in an intentionally mindless way, which could be construed as mindful, if you think about it. Don’t think about it too hard, though.) Marc and Beth were manning the M2 table with some hors d’oeuvres and information was flowing along with the hoppy brews.
Added set – Drew’s gig the next day – all 45s delighting the brunchers at The Third Bird.
The dog kennel is de-pooped, for now. Those maple tree helicopter things are still hovering down. Chris has been valiantly blowing them off the deck where they are not wanted, then sweeping and carrying them off into the new spring compost bin. The mushy leaves which we use to cover the hosta jungle on the shady side of the yard have been raked up and also added into the compost oven. Hey, we’re not scholars from the Rodale Institute or anything, but compost really rocks. And so do rocks – the back yard has been totally Fred Flintstoned. A pond-with-3-tiered-waterfall project became Chris’ answer to losing a huge tree in the back of the yard; instead of removing the huge tree trunk he just added huge boulders and began the waterfall. It’s his baby which needs tending to occasionally; the pond portion has little leaks from time-to-time but generally we’ve been pretty happy with it. The birds, especially cardinals, seem to love to take little showers in the waterfall; they hang out there for hours sometimes. In early spring a couple of mallards stop and visit as though they’re looking at real estate – “honey, I know it’s just a one-bedroom but we wouldn’t have those damned Drakes next door causing all that racket.” (That’s me, anthropromorpholizing our duck visitors.) Then they see that we have two big dogs, and the sale goes south in a quick hurry.
We hardly travel for a variety of reasons; it’s expensive, we never have enough time, we’re not good planners, we’ve got two big dogs. So for us, our little plot of South Minneapolis is our retreat. Sure, there are the sounds of cars, trucks and motorcycles whooshing by down on the street, but we pretend it’s the sound of waves crashing on the Northern Pacific shoreline somewhere (ok, I do that, Chris isn’t quite there yet). There are the occasional shouts, firecrackers, those crotch rocket things that I don’t even like to call motorcycles, and sometimes dogs who have been left in their yards who won’t stop barking, but it all comes with the territory. We have plants that attract butterflies and even hummingbirds; squirrels, rabbits, raccoons and even possums like to hang out in our sanctuary.
We’re city folk at heart, I guess. Summertime, and the living is easy. So here’s a slooomooo moment. It’s one of those reminders to live in the present.
Was it Groucho Marx or Woody Allen who said he’d never want to be a member of a club who’d have him as a member. I’m kind of that way, ‘cept I’m actually the president of that hair club for men now. I have never been the president of anything (someone asked me, “Oh you were never a class president?” “Yeah, right.”)
So yeah this is great, we have our board meetings on the top of the IDS with fabulous banquets and fine wine, making our terrible plans for the little people who serve us at our whim. Bwahahahahahha. Another glass please, garson.
Ouch. Expensive tickets for The Buzzcocks – playing Mpls on 9/11. I love them. It’ll be worth it. I know it will.
I just realized I haven’t posted in a little while. I’m still feeling after-effects of the Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds show on Saturday. They did all the Big Hits, including this one. Powerful. Menacing. I needed this night out after weeks of work overload. My marbles are all scattered right now.
Oh the opening act, Barfight, no, Bananagirls? No. Shit, now I gotta look it up. Oh, Warpaint. Sorry, they were terrible. Really terrible. That’s my review. This is why I’m a dj and not a music writer.
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds delivered – truly great show. Probably better than the last time I saw them (also at the State Theatre.) But what a weird crowd – were they all mostly Current people? I realize I’m old, from a lost, forgotten generation (I believe it’s the Blank Generation, and I can take it or leave it each time). But it’s Nick Cave’s generation at least. These little pecker heads with their little straw hats, polo shirts and cargo shorts sorta make me wanna puke. “I’m really torn because I bought these Nick Cave tickets long before I realized I’d be missing Rock the Garden…I’m really bummed,” this little shit sitting next to me was saying. Makes me want to react in a violent manner. What’s happening? What in the fuck is happening?
To help orchestrate KFAI’s co-sponsorship of THROWATHON, a 48HR Pottery Spinning Charity for Empty Bowls Polka Dance Party at the PNA Hall with Kids’ Art DJs spinnin live broadcast Sugar Shop Learning for Leadership kids deejaying then Jazzed Up & Bonkers Polish kielbasa Harriet Brewing Beer for sale but there’s free snowcones and popcorn on Saturday all as a part of ART-A-WHIRL WEEKEND which happens annually here in Minneapolis and is a true harbinger of spring although it is still in the 50s and windy and feels more like March but that’s how we whirl here in Minnesota.
I’ll be manning the KFAI promo table (we’re co-sponsoring) at this show this Sunday night at Mill City Nights. I’m looking forward to a nice night of noise. Earplugs? Balderdash!!!
Can’t wait until this is released here in Mpls, where it all happened! And I’m so glad it all happened.